


Hearth Cakes

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, F/M, First Love, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 77,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The huntress, though, was less discreet and moved closer to Lavellan to whisper with a knowing look: “The bald elf is your lover, isn’t he?”</p><p>“Yes.” Lavellan smiled proudly, two red dots on her cheeks. Ready to talk about Solas and all his beautiful qualities, to tell everyone in the camp how good and kind he was, she sat straighter and was about to start when another woman intervened:</p><p>“Isn’t he too old, though?”</p><p> </p><p>In which Lavellan wants to make Solas feel beautiful and Solas wants to make her feel at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, long chapter of a long fic. The rating is probably going to change as the story goes on. For now there is humor, fluff, and a lot of angst, because this is Solavellan and you can’t have it without a big dose of pain. I didn’t describe Lavellan in great detail, so everyone will be able to imagine their own, but some personal ideas and headcanons have slipped into the story.
> 
> I wanted to show Lavellan and Solas’ relationship in a different light, using two elements: Solas’ particular, odd charm and hearth cakes. Forgive me if there are typos, English is not my first language. Enjoy!

It all began in the Exalted Plains, at the camp of the Dalish clan led by Hawen. The Inquisition had already won its favor and the only contact between the organization and the clan had been Loranil’s letters to his friends and Keeper.  
  
Worrying rumors of a dragon dwelling in the swamp at east had convinced the Inquisitor to go back to the Plains to face the beast and make sure to bring some peace to that blasted place. The undead and the civil war had already done damage enough and Lavellan longed to leave the burned fields and elven blood-soaked paths once and for all and never come back, not until there was hope for improvement.  
  
The dragon - a glorious creature whose roar seemed to echo the cries of war and pain that had haunted the region for so long - had been successfully defeated and its carcass sent back to Skyhold. Lavellan had studied carefully the various parts - skin, bones, organs - and her bright eyes and enthusiastic smile when she had raised her head had announced to her companions what she had in mind.  
  
“Could we bring some of this stuff to the Dalish camp near the river? I’m sure they would appreciate it.”  
  
“Dragon skin is quite rare and durable. They would undoubtedly find good use for it.” Solas had agreed with a smile and for once he had not seemed reluctant to visit the Dalish, knowing how important that was to Lavellan. Even Cassandra and Varric had gladly accepted to bring part of the loot to the clan and now they were there, staying for the night after Keeper Hawen had confirmed his trust and respect for the Inquisitor and her friends once again.  
  
It was rare for the Dalish to welcome outsiders, but Hawen had made an exception, seeing how tired Lavellan and the others were and wishing to show them gratefulness for the unexpected and precious gift they had brought to his clan. They wouldn’t be allowed in the aravels, but the fire would remain lit for the entire night to ensure the safety and warmth of the group. Lavellan had bowed her head, knowing the Keeper was giving them a good treatment, one not often used towards strangers.  
  
It was so strange to eat with her people again. Lavellan suddenly realized how much she missed her clan life when the hunters started preparing the hearth for dinner and the children scrambled around it to steal food or observe the preparations with dreamy eyes.  
  
Some of the youngest kids preferred to look at the curious group that had been allowed in their camp; Solas’ bare face and wise eyes, Varric’s hairy chest and height, and Cassandra’s armor and hair probably intrigued them a lot. They were less shy with Lavellan and after an initial, timid approach, they warmed up to her and clung to her shoulders, asking for stories, the battles she had faced, and ancient elven legends.  
  
They reminded her so much of the children back in her clan and she smiled, taking the youngest one - a lithe boy not older than six years - in her arms and replying kindly: “I’m not the best at telling stories. Solas is way better than me, he knows a lot of stuff!” She turned to him, smiling brightly, and was happy to see a blush spread all over his cheeks and ears. The kids stared at him with wide eyes, feeling sudden interest in the bald elf without vallaslin. Their curiosity finally replaced their shyness and they moved to sit near him.  
  
“Can you tell us about the Emerald Knights?”  
  
“Is it true they had wolf friends?”  
  
“Papae says they were beautiful and strong and wore golden armors!”  
  
Solas blinked at the little ones tugging at his robes, at the innocent audience so eager to listen to him, and the glance he shot Lavellan was both amused and grateful. She shrugged, grinning, and scooted nearer to him to show her interest; Solas shook his head, his smile now bigger, then looked back at the children, clearing his throat.  
  
“It is true. They indeed had wolf companions, loyal friends that followed them whenever they went, helping them in battle, warming them at night, offering them their support.” He stopped and frowned slightly. Lavellan knew that expression; it meant he was thinking hard about the next words to use, collecting his thoughts to express better his knowledge, and when he started talking again his voice was sure, unfaltering, flowing smoothly from his lips.  
  
She couldn’t help but focus on them, remembering the night before; in the tent at night, those same lips had whispered sweet things in her ear and had curled into a tender smile while he had embraced her and caressed her back and hair and…  
  
“ _Ahem._ ”  
  
Lavellan jolted with a small gasp and turned around. Varric, who was sitting at her left, was smirking at her, his eyes glistening with complicity.  
  
“You look pretty interested, Inquisitor.” he said with an ironic tone, a hand resting on the ever beautiful Bianca.  
  
“I…! Well, yes!” Lavellan babbled, grateful for the kids laughing and talking loudly, their thrilling tones covering her conversation with the dwarf. Solas’ attention was entirely focused on them, so he didn’t hear her when she added, her voice a low whisper: “I love how he narrates our stories and lore and… and it’s always nice to hear them from him.”  
  
“Of course. The stories. That’s probably why you were staring at his face so intently, then.” Varric’s smartass grin made her blush even more furiously and she sighed, giving up.  
  
“You are going to put this into one of your books, aren’t you?”  
  
“You can bet!” the dwarf laughed, the sound cheerful and amicable, devoid of any offense. He was just joking and Lavellan laughed with him when he continued: “The great Inquisitor Lavellan and her cultured, quiet elven lover. Who wouldn’t read a novel like that?” He glanced at Cassandra, who was pretending to be busy with her flask of water, and whispered back: “Our fellow Seeker would be the first fan, I’m sure.”  
  
“I can hear you.” the woman grunted, glaring at Varric. “And stop teasing her! There is nothing shameful in admiring your own lover.” When she looked at Lavellan, her expression softened and a dreamy smile appeared on her face. “You looked so happy, Inquisitor. Solas does the same, you know?”  
  
“You mean looking happy? Because he looks pretty panicked to me, now.” Varric chuckled and Lavellan turned to observe the scene.  
  
The kids had officially proclaimed Solas their favorite storyteller and were asking him question after question, talking one over the other, arguing when one’s question was considered silly by another. Their young age didn’t let them have enough patience to listen thoroughly to Solas’ replies, but they were genuinely curious and interested and fought with each other to receive answers before anyone else. When something was different from the Keeper or their family’s teachings, they immediately pointed it out, confused, and Solas, with solemnity and patience, explained how things really were.  
  
The fact that all the members of the clan - Hawen included - were busy with the food and other issues helped Solas; no one was there to interrupt or judge him, no Keeper was listening to his versions of the ancient lore with distrust or indignation. Lavellan saw the relief and enthusiasm burn like fire in his eyes and felt happy for him. She knew how much he wanted the Dalish to learn their heritage in a decent and truthful way and even though some of his explanations and knowledge were so surprising and never heard of, she trusted him. She was also relieved that he was in no way patronizing the children for their wrong knowledge.  
  
Varric was right, though; Solas was eager and joyful to teach those kids whatever he could, but he wasn’t used to their loud, chaotic manners and for all his knowledge of the Fade, spirits, and elven culture, he had very little idea of how to deal with children. He tried to speak over their voices, to no avail, and in the end he sat still, observing them bicker with a small smile on his face.  
  
“Problems?” Lavellan whispered, leaning in, and he turned his face towards her, chuckling.  
  
“I am afraid I can no longer keep their focus on me strong.”  
  
“They are probably going to settle this with games and some slaps on the face.” Lavellan laughed, looking at the kids fondly, then she remembered the little one in her arms, who had been so quiet and silent she had completely forgotten about him. The kid had fallen asleep, maybe lulled by Solas’ voice or Lavellan’s own heartbeat and warmth, and his peers’ loud cries did nothing to shake him awake.  
  
“Look, Solas!” Lavellan exclaimed in a murmur, teasing him lightly. “I found another big fan of naps!”  
  
Solas snorted and looked at her with warmth, the same she saw on his face during their intimate moments or their travels, when they spoke while walking and their hands brushed against each other. She blushed and looked down at the child, studying the different shadows on his young face created by the fire they were sitting by, moved by the way his tiny fists were grasping her coat, his head resting against her breasts. She could still feel Solas’ gaze upon her and when she looked up back at him, his expression had turned more tender, but also somewhat sad and wistful.  
  
She was about to ask him what was wrong - although that wasn’t the first time she had seen such a change in his emotions - when the kids remembered him and one of them tugged at his robes again, asking him to finally settle the question between them and solve their doubts.  
  
“Tell me your concerns and I shall do my best to clarify things to you.” he replied with a kind smile, the sorrow from before quickly hidden behind it.  
  
“See??” Cassandra whispered and her usually stern and serious expression was replaced by an excited, juvenile grin. “He looked so happy! I often see him look like that while he talks with you, Inquisitor.”  
  
“Can I use those adorable halla-eyes he makes at you as inspiration for a scene of _Swords and Shields_? Really, they were the mushiest thing I have ever seen in my poor, intense life.” Varric asked Lavellan, not even bothering to hide his own grin, and Cassandra didn’t bother stifling her gasp of sheer joy at hearing that he was working on the next chapter of the book.  
  
Lavellan gave them a lopsided smile, shrugging to give the dwarf her full permission, and went back to look at the sleeping child in her arms. She wondered how both Varric and Cassandra hadn’t noticed the swift change in Solas’ face when he was staring at her, but maybe they weren’t looking then or weren’t close enough to notice the different light in his eyes. Or maybe they didn’t know him and couldn’t recognize his changing emotions as well as her.  
  
Deeply immersed in her thoughts, all concerning Solas and his still mysterious ways, she didn’t pay attention to Cassandra’s unashamed insistence in asking Varric more details about the chapter; nor she started listening again to Solas, who was now describing Arlathan in great details, as if he had seen it himself. He probably had, in the Fade, Lavellan mused with a smile. There was much longing and fascination in his voice and even the children were listening to him in perfect silence now, enthralled by his descriptions, so much they didn’t want to interrupt him with more questions and doubts.  
  
When he told her tales of their ancient past, he was always very clear and didn’t let his passion and love for their culture mask its darkest details. Whereas the Dalish seemed to remember only the most beautiful parts of their lore and history, Solas recalled also the less noble parts, respecting the “true truth” more than the ancient elves’ reputation. For Lavellan it had been a kind of a shock, at first, and her Keeper’s teachings had rung in her head for many days after first hearing Solas’ version of their history.  
  
But he looked so knowledgeable, so full of passion, and his words sounded so truthful and sincere, she just couldn’t help but trust him fully and admire his wisdom and brilliance. The Fade truly must had taught him much forgotten and uncanny lore and she could see why the Dalish clans he had encountered had been scared by his teachings and had refused to listen to him.  
  
“But if what you saw in the Fade is really true, the People must know!” She had said to him once, back when they still weren’t together, but their feelings for each other were already blossoming. She had beamed at him and added: “You could write a book!”  
  
Solas had chuckled, laughing not at her or her idea, but at the image of himself writing an undoubtedly massive and heavy tome, bended over his desk like Varric did when he was deeply immersed in his books.  
  
“Nobody would read it, I fear.” he had said, a small smile lingering on his lips. “And if they did, they would call me mad or a liar, like it happened in the past. No Dalish would accept to meditate on that knowledge and human scholars would simply ignore it or toss it aside.”  
  
“I would.” Lavellan had said and, seeing Solas’ confusion, had hastily explained, cheeks flushed: “I would try to read it without prejudices and meditate on it. I would need some proofs, maybe, but every version of a fact or event should be taken into consideration. If it exists and spirits in the Fade have seen it, there must be a reason, right?”  
  
She still remembered Solas’ proud smile and happy eyes and his soft ‘thank you’ and now, many months after that conversation, she realized she had really accepted his knowledge and fully accepted his expertise on elven culture.   
  
Caressing distractingly the little boy’s soft hair, she wondered if her clan would ever hear him out or chase him away as other clans had done before. Keeper Deshanna was a kind woman, but she would undoubtedly question Solas’ source of wisdom and his status, nor Dalish nor city elf.  
  
She would also question their relationship, but Lavellan only felt her cheeks burn with joy and pride at the thought of introducing Solas to her friends and family. They would ask many questions, frown upon his origins, but she knew them and she knew they would also try their best to accept him and make him feel at ease. Marriages between different clans weren’t rare and Lavellan had met and grown up with more than one person coming from another Dalish clan, a man or woman betrothed to one of her group. In the end, after a slow start, everyone became family.  
  
She knew, though, that she couldn’t go live back with her people. Not just because she was the Inquisitor now; the clan, despite being broad-minded, wouldn’t let a barefaced elf live in the camp. And Solas would never accept its rules and traditions.  
  
However, she was sure - or at least hoped - that her clan would treat Solas with respect, despite his singular situation, as long as he didn’t become full part of the group; maybe it would require more time for them to welcome him fully, but hers wasn’t a particular harsh nor serious clan, unlike others she had heard talk about around the campfire at night. They would respect her mate, even if just to respect her.  
  
She raised her eyes from the sleeping child, Solas’ voice, eyes, smile, and lips capturing her attention again. She smiled too, imagining her friends’ surprise in hearing she was with someone.  
  
Life in the clan was rough and there wasn’t much time nor strength left after a hard day of journey or work to spend time with the opposite sex. Also, strict rules that every clan observed dictated how men and women within the group had to behave with each other and specific rituals had to be followed to enter in a relationship with someone.  
  
The Keeper usually matched future couples, studying the interactions within the clan and finding the best matches, while trying to be fair to people’s feelings at the same time.  
  
Lavellan had never been with someone before Solas; her duties had always prevented her from setting her eyes on someone and her quiet shyness had done the rest, letting Keeper Deshanna know that she wasn’t interested in someone for the moment. She had many friends and some of them had told her about their experiences as their flirting rituals proceeded, and she had listened with wide eyes, trying to imagine those same scenes with her and an unnamed, faceless lover in them. Apart from that, though, she had just been too busy with her Dalish life to fall for someone and simply imagining a future relationship had been enough for her.  
  
Then the Conclave had happened and she had met Solas.  
  
She forced herself to think of something else, but soon memories of their first time together filled her mind and Lavellan quickly looked away from Solas, biting her lips, her blush spreading down her neck. It had been intense and sweet and wonderful and so unlike anything she had ever imagined. The nights after that one had been even more beautiful and she felt like a completely new person not just because of the Anchor thrumming in her hand or the heavy responsibility of the Inquisition upon her shoulders. She felt older, more mature, and complete also thanks to Solas.  
  
Undoubtedly her clan would also comment about her physical relationship with Solas, but could they blame her?  
  
_‘He is so beautiful.’_ she thought daring to look at him again. And she wasn’t referring to just his looks - which were pretty damn good -, but also his mind, spirit, heart. The way his eyes squinted when he smiled, how he snorted when he laughed, his noble profile, and bald head complimented his inner qualities and Lavellan knew for the umpteenth time that she was so, so deeply in love with him.  
  
Then she heard giggling and her eyes darted down; the sleeping boy was awake and his still bleary eyes were looking straight into hers, a sleepy smile on his lips.  
  
“Is he your husband?”  
  
A sudden, heavy silence fell upon the group near the little campfire, while the elves, gathered around the hearth to conclude the preparations for dinner, continued their lively conversations.  
  
The other children turned simultaneously to look at Lavellan, whose face had become pale and expressionless; she felt Solas shuffle, likely uncomfortably, next to her and she gulped.  
  
“Oh, shit.” she heard Varric mutter under his breath, while a very anxious Cassandra pretended once again not to be interested to avoid embarrassing her.  
  
“I…” Lavellan croaked out when she finally regained her voice. She cleared her throat, but that only made the sleepy child and his peers giggle again, the sound grating her ears like the shrieks of a Despair demon.  
  
And pure despair was what she was feeling in that moment and it was a wonder no demon came out of the thin Veil attracted by her inner turmoil. She would have very much preferred it rather than face what was coming.  
  
“You were staring at him.” the little child continued. “And your face was so, so funny, because it was all red and you were smiling like Mamae smiles when Papae gives her a compliment.”  
  
“Is he your husband?” a little girl repeated with a gasp, clasping her hands together. For a moment, she reminded Lavellan of a pointy eared Cassandra. “Are you going to have children? When people get married, children always come!”  
  
Lavellan prayed the Creators to open a small Breach right beneath her to swallow her whole into the Fade, but they did no heed her prayers - and to be honest that didn’t surprise her at all - and an older kid spoke up, standing up on his skinny, long legs and studying her with a puzzled expression: “Can you still lead your organization if you are pregnant…?”  
  
While Cassandra hid her face behind a hand and Varric burst in a fit of coughs, Solas intervened, his tone eerily calm: “We are not married.”  
  
Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was a naïve part of her, but Lavellan could have sworn she had heard a hint of disappointment in his voice, as if he truly desired to be married to her. She had to put aside those thoughts for the moment, though, as the child in her arms replied with surprise: “But she stared at you with such big eyes!”  
  
“He did it too before, I saw him! It means they are in love!” a girl giggled, followed by her friends, and Solas once again explained, infinitely patient and dignified: “We are lovers. That is why we look at each other in such a sweet way.” He turned to Lavellan and his smile helped her to calm down, even though her heart was nearly exploding in her chest and she felt lightheaded and terribly warm.  
  
“So no children?” another girl groaned in disappointment and Solas sounded as sad as her when he answered: “No children.”  
  
The tender melancholy Lavellan had seen in his eyes returned and she wished to chase it away forever, replacing it with never-ending joy and relief. It was time to change topic, she decided, but just as she opened her mouth, the drowsy kid talked again: “When you two will get married, they will come, though, right?”  
  
Solas hesitated for a second, then he smiled at the boy and nodded slowly.  
  
“Perhaps.” he said and the sadness was still there, raw and alive, and Lavellan couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
“Kids, why don’t we go to the hearth and see how the food is coming along?” she gently picked up the child and passed him to Solas, who awkwardly took him into his arms.  
  
The children cheered and followed her, eager to finally eat, and for the moment they forgot about the stories and legends of their people.  
  
Lavellan took the youngest ones’ hands and led them to the hearth, where Hawen, the hunters, and the older kids were tending to it. When she saw what was cooking on the iron griddle, her heart leapt with joy, the embarrassment slightly fading away.  
  
“Hearth cakes!” she exclaimed, eyes as big as the children’s gathered around the fire, and memories of her clan and childhood flooded her mind, threatening to make her cry with nostalgia.  
  
Then she remembered the present situation and blushed; Hawen and his clan were kindly giving her and her friends food and rest despite the difficulties that every Dalish group had to face and they had no helped at all with the food. The Inquisition had greatly helped the clan, but the Dalish were treating them with much generosity nonetheless, and Lavellan felt bad again.  
  
“What can I do to help?” she asked, fidgeting anxiously. “I am sorry, I was distracted by the children and-”  
  
“Don’t worry, _da’len_.” Hawen interrupted her with a smile. “We are happy the young ones find themselves comfortable among you. It means you are good, patient people and we appreciate it.”  
  
“Was your odd barefaced friend telling them stories?” one of the hunters, a strong elven woman with many scars on her face and hands, asked with a smirk. “They looked fascinated by him.”  
  
“Yes, he was.” Lavellan says with a wide smile, wishing to let everyone know how good her lover was. “Solas knows many things and he is very good at sharing his knowledge.”  
  
“I hope they were truthful, trustworthy stories then.” Hawen added, the warning in his voice barely concealed, and before Lavellan could reply, joy gone from her lips, footsteps from behind made her turn around.  
  
Solas, Varric, and Cassandra were standing at a respectful distance. Solas had a polite smile on his face, his hand resting upon the sleepy kid’s shoulder; Varric, with Bianca on his back, grinned up at Lavellan, hands on his hips; Cassandra looked uncomfortable and stood awkwardly there as many glowing elven eyes stared at them guardedly, with puzzlement and surprise.  
  
“We were wondering if we could help with anything.” Solas said, his tone casual, but also defensive and a bit ironic, as he was ready to hear his offer be refused. His eyes moved to Lavellan and his smile turned warmer; she blushed, realizing he had done it for her, and she knew how difficult it was for him to stay like that among the elves he didn’t consider his people. She was too well aware of how they looked at him and how they considered him a stranger despite their common race, but he still had faced shame and voluntarily made the first step to make her feel at ease and not embarrass her in front of another clan.  
  
Varric and Cassandra had also probably felt her same sting of shame in seeing how much the clan was doing to give them a proper dinner and didn’t want to just look and wait for food. Cassandra clearly knew they were outsiders there, though, and her nervous stance betrayed her awkwardness.  
  
“Of course.” Hawen said after a long moment of silence, his lips curling into a half-smile, a little thing that visibly brightened his eyes. “Since you are so good guests, we can’t refuse your help.” He motioned them to come closer and Solas and the others did so, standing next to a happy Lavellan.  
  
Master Taniel, the merchant and craftsmaster of the clan, gave them all different tasks: Lavellan and Cassandra would skin nugs and rabbits, Solas would prepare the herbs to season the food, and Varric would help Emalien, the Hearthkeeper, rekindle the fire and keep its temperature right enough not to burn anything.  
  
The glow of the hearth illuminated Cassandra’s armor and made Lavellan’s eyes look like puddles of sun; it also made Bianca shine beautifully and one of the hunters pointed it out with curiosity.  
  
“That’s a very nice weapon, dwarf.”  
  
“Isn’t she?” Varric grinned, all proud. “I found her in a deep cavern in the Free Marches, under a pile of gold and gems.” He leaned in, lowering his voice, and the elves - especially the children who had found another great storyteller - leaned as well to hear better.  
  
“The hideout of a band of mercenaries. Their boss was a mighty warrior that brought into his cave any rare treasure he could find. His name was… uh, Horn. They called him Horn.”  
  
Cassandra groaned, while Lavellan and Solas snickered, knowing all too well what Varric was doing. The kids listened with much interest, even the older ones, captivated by the intense adventure slowly taking form in their mind. Some of the grown-ups fell for the dwarf’s original words and ideas, too, and Hawen and the older members of the clan listened with amused smirk, but they didn’t interrupt Varric as he started to describe the mercenary’s personal pink dragon.  
  
“Thank you.” Lavellan whispered as she cut the exterior, harder skin of a nug and Solas, sitting next to her, nodded.  
  
“It is no problem. I enjoy being useful.”  
  
“Not just for this.” she said, referring to the bowl he was mixing herbs in. “I also mean the gesture in general. It’s been very kind, Solas, and I’m sure the whole clan appreciated it.”  
  
She cleaned her bloody hand on the grass and rested it upon Solas’, smiling at him, heart hammering in her chest, a deep blush spreading again over her face and neck. Solas stared at her intently, with so much intensity she felt drawn by his eyes, which now looked more blue than gray, with specks of golden created by the light of the fire.  
  
She saw love in his face, love and peace, and he pressed his forehead against her, just for a few seconds, a discreet gesture that showed how much he cared for her. He wasn’t overly affectionate in public, but the little gestures he used around other people were clear enough to show how important and deep their relationship was.  
  
She felt his hot breath tingle her nose and lips and, with a squeeze of her hand, he kissed her, lightly and sweetly, whispering: “ _Ma sa’lath_.”  
  
“ _Ma vhenan_.” Lavellan murmured, her voice filled with emotion, and Solas smiled too, before letting go of her hand and pulling away to focus back on the spices. The tips of his ears were red, though, and he couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes nor the raised corners of his mouth.  
  
Varric concluded his story with an epic fight featuring darkspawn and the defeat of the pink dragon and the entire clan clapped and laughed, while he bowed his head, a hand on his chest. Lavellan noticed the deep look of concentration etched on Cassandra’s face as she skinned the nug and giggled when she saw her shock as a charming elf sat near her and commented on her skills.  
  
Emalien, the young woman who had lost her brother, poked the hearth cakes with a wooden fork and exclaimed cheerfully: “They are ready!” She was the Hearthkeeper and it was her duty to pass the food to every member of the clan and guest.  
  
“Is the meat done, _lethallan_?” she asked Lavellan and the Inquisitor handed her the nugs she had skinned, while Solas the bowl filled with mixed seasonings and spices. Emalien gave it all to other members of the clan so they could prepare the meat and hurried to take out small boards of wood and woven leaves to use as dishes.  
  
Lavellan bounced on her spot, eyeing the hearth cakes with something akin to adoration and pure awe. It was a rare, delicious treat back in her clan; she always used to look forward to the day they could actually prepare them. It was usually during a celebration in honor of one of the Creators or in occasion of a birth and she could still remember the taste of the hearth cakes her mother prepared, so delicate and yet so good.  
  
The food that the cooks of Skyhold prepared was great, Lavellan couldn’t deny that; it was unlike anything she had ever eaten in her life and she had discovered many tastes she didn’t even know could exist. She had asked to send some of the most particular and best dishes to her clan, but the long journey would have spoiled them, so more elfroot and medicinal herbs had been all she had been able to send.  
  
Emalien passed her a wooden plate and Lavellan thanked her, before looking at the cake with a happy, goofy smile. Years had passed since the last time she had seen one and she wanted to savor the moment.  
  
“ _Vhenan_?” she heard Solas say low in her ear and she hummed to let him know she was listening, gaze still fixated on the steaming cake.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You…” Solas chuckled and the sound was enough to distract Lavellan from her food. It truly meant his voice and laughter were something divine.  
  
“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching to fight a grin.  
  
Solas chuckled again, shaking his head, and Lavellan thumped him.  
  
“Come on, spit it out!” she giggled and the other elf caught her hand, entwining their fingers together.  
  
“You look ravenous.” he said, affection clearly audible behind his teasing. “As if you haven’t seen food for days.” His smile became a sly, roguish smirk and he added: “But I know for a fact that we had a particularly good breakfast, this morning.”  
  
Lavellan huffed, feigning offense. She loved food and never hid it, even though she was much capable of spending the whole day without eating a single thing, if necessary. Still, when the occasion arose, she didn’t miss the chance to grab a bite of something good and tasty. That morning they had eaten fresh, warm bread and milk that a noble ally had sent for the camps of the Inquisition scattered in the Exalted Plains, hoping to boost the morale and gain points with the organization.  
  
“It was good, yeah.” she admitted with a pout and Solas chuckled again, knowing she wasn’t really mad at him for his joke. She laughed with him and her expression became a bit somber, nostalgic, as she explained: “You are right. I haven’t seen this kind of food in years.” She felt Solas’ calloused fingers rub gently her skin and the feeling brought pleasant tingles down her back. “I used to eat hearth cakes when I was with my clan. We didn’t prepare them often, but when we did it was always funny and nice.”  
  
She touched the warm cake with her free hand and sighed, continuing: “My mother was the best at making them. Keeper Deshanna always asked her to prepare food for the clan and I helped her. I picked the ingredients and put them in the dough with the other children. We watched them cook on the griddle and poked them with our fingers until they were ready.” She giggled, doing the same now, and felt Solas moving closer, so much she could smell his scent even among the one emanated by the food and burning wood.  
  
“We touched them so much that in the end all the cakes had dents and weird shapes in them. My mother always let us do it, but the Hearthkeeper got so mad when he saw us!”  
  
“It sounds very beautiful.” Solas agreed with sincerity and Lavellan rested her head on his shoulder, took a small piece of cake and put it in her mouth, closing her eyes. She relished the taste, different and yet so similar to the one she was used to, and after all those years and all the things that had happened to her, she found it to be comforting, like a message from home assuring her that everything was going to be fine.  
  
Solas’ presence made the feeling even stronger and she raised her head, happy to see him eating as well.  
  
“I’m glad I can finally eat them again with you.” she softly said and Solas blushed, this time not a simple darker shade of red on his ears and cheeks, but a full blush that covered his entire face. He looked moved by her words and the smile he gave her was so full of emotion she couldn’t help but turn pink in return.  
  
“And I am glad I can eat them for the first time in your company, _vhenan_.” he looked down at his plate and hummed appreciatively. “They are good indeed.”  
  
“Oh, I know! I could eat tons of them!” The nostalgic mood gone, Lavellan went back to the cake, filling her mouth with it while keeping Solas’ hand in hers.  
  
They continued to eat like that, until the other elf proposed: “You could ask the kitchen staff at Skyhold to make them for you. I am sure it would have no problems in preparing them for you, if the recipe is provided.”  
  
“They would need very specific ingredients. Halla butter, for example. And it’s no easily found outside Dalish clans. We tend not to sell it, it’s too precious, and when we do it’s expensive as hell.” Lavellan shrugged. “It would taste different with anything else and I prefer to remember the cakes like this, as they truly are supposed to be.”  
  
Solas seemed to think about it, humming again and munching slowly; around them, the Dalish clan was loud and cheerful. The presence of the Inquisition wasn’t as jarring as before and everyone looked quite at ease.  
  
Taniel and the children were listening to Varric, who was telling another story, this time featuring a brave heroine with freckles on her nose, orange hair, and a drooling mabari; Cassandra was exchanging advices about weapons with the same hunter that had complimented her skills; the rest of the clan was eating and joking without holding back, now used to the odd people that had visited and helped them so often.  
  
Solas wasn’t paying attention to any of them, though; his hand still in Lavellan’s, he kept eating in silence, eyes fixated on the hearth, until he spoke again, softly: “You would like to eat them more often, though, wouldn’t you?”  
  
Blinking, confused for a moment, Lavellan realized what he was referring to only after a few seconds, and then chuckled with a nod.  
  
“Well, yes, it would be nice. But as I said the traditional ingredients would be too difficult to find or too expensive to buy. I don’t want Josephine to waste all the Inquisition’s money because of my culinary tastes.” She bumped playfully Solas’ shoulder and grinned at him: “This evening will be another beautiful memory I will always relate to hearth cakes. It is more than enough and more than I could ask for.”  
  
Solas remained silent for a second, watching her with an intensity stronger than before; then he smiled back, brought her hand to his mouth, and kissed it.  
  
The rest of the evening proceeded smoothly; the nugs and rabbits were put on the griddle and Lavellan waited for them to be ready before putting the hearth cake aside and eating the meat instead.  
  
“I want to keep it for later!” she explained to Solas, who blinked at his own almost finished cake and left it as last dish as well.  
  
Varric had conquered the children’s hearts with his stories, while Cassandra was listening with great attention to Master Taniel and her explanations about craftsmanship. Lavellan spoke with other people of the clan, answering their questions - most of which regarded Loranil and how he was doing in the Inquisition -, sharing her worries about the Venatori still scouting the area once in a while, discussing the wellbeing of her own clan.  
  
“They must be proud of you.” Keeper Hawen said. “An elf commanding a force as powerful and influential as the Inquisition is an enormous step forward for the People.”  
  
“Do you intend to return to them once there is peace?” the scarred huntress asked and Lavellan, the small rabbit she was eating blocked midair in front of her mouth, blinked and looked back and forth from the woman to Hawen. Then she lowered the half-eaten meat and watched thoughtfully the glow of the hearth, now mild and less warm than before.  
  
“I don’t know. It depends on how things will evolve in the future.” she looked at the huntress and showed a bittersweet smile. “I miss them, but I think my place is with the Inquisition now. It would be difficult to go back to that life after all that has happened.”  
  
She didn’t mention Solas and the life she hoped to have with him; she knew her clan would accept him, in the end, but she couldn’t possibly ask him to live a life he didn’t believe in, following rules and beliefs he considered wrong. She would introduce him to her friends and family, receive their best wishes for happiness, and then leave with him, exchanging letters and messages like she was doing now.  
  
It was not that bad, after all, and she could always visit them. Perhaps with children, later, when peace was finally back in Thedas and the clan had finally accepted him as her husband…   
  
Keeper Hawen seemed to understand what she was thinking and nodded slowly, his eyes moving to Solas, who had politely focused his attention elsewhere and was speaking with Varric. The huntress, though, was less discreet and moved closer to Lavellan to whisper with a knowing look: “The bald elf is your lover, isn’t he?”  
  
“Yes.” Lavellan smiled proudly, two red dots on her cheeks. Ready to talk about Solas and all his beautiful qualities, to tell everyone in the camp how good and kind he was, she sat straighter and was about to start when another woman intervened:  
  
“Isn’t he too old, though?”  
  
Lavellan froze, staring wide eyed at the elf that had spoken, a friend of the huntress. The latter glanced at Solas and Lavellan couldn’t see him, but he had visibly tensed up and kept his back turned to the women.  
  
“He is much older than you.” the huntress commented with a confused frown and another friend of hers, the halla breeder of the clan, leaned closer towards Lavellan and murmured with worry: “Men of his age have usually problems at impregnating their wives. Were you not bonded with someone younger back at your clan, Inquisitor?”  
  
Lavellan gaped at them, unable to come up with a decent answer, to make her brain work. This wasn’t what she had expected! This wasn’t the reaction she had imagined! Where were the envious, admired questions about their relationship? Where were the giggles and sighs of longing caused by Solas’ charm and her own words of love and praise for him?  
  
The huntress laughed seeing her expression and continued, her voice even lower: “Oh, I see. He is your first love, huh?”  
  
“You should consider other options, Inquisitor.” the halla breeder added calmly, her long fingers prying easily the hot meat of a nug off its bones and putting it in her mouth. “He may be good as a fleeting dalliance, but if you are looking for a long-lasting relationship, you should think about getting a younger man. One who can give you children.”  
  
“And not die before you.” the huntress’ friend sighed. “Trust me, my husband was much older than me and he died just four years after our bonding.” She patted her stomach and a bad, cold shiver went up Lavellan’s back. “And no kids.”  
  
“With your reputation and status, I’m sure every Dalish clan would be willing to cede a warrior or First.” the halla breeder said with a wink. “In fact, I heard that Keeper Hawen wanted to ask you something about Loranil.”  
  
“Look. Even some of our warriors have already taken interest in you.” the huntress nodded towards the elf who had spoken with Cassandra. He was eating, but his dark eyes often moved from his food to where Lavellan was sitting and then they quickly darted back down on his plate.  
  
“See?” the huntress whispered in excitement and her friends giggled, commenting on their companion’s alluring features and strength.  
  
“What do you see in your lover, anyway? He is a bit… particular, with that bald head and his long face.” the breeder asked, then gasped, a hand covering her mouth. “Oooh! Is it because he is good in bed? Is that why?”  
  
“He looks well built. His shoulders are broad, at least.” the huntress’ friend admitted, studying Solas’ back with a critical eyes. “But he also slouches a lot. Mage, right?”  
  
“Why is he barefaced? Is he a city elf?”  
  
Lavellan knew they weren’t telling and asking her those things to hurt her, it was just the mentality of the Dalish that made them speak like that and give her that kind of advices, but she couldn’t help feel mortified and so, so sad. Then another feeling came, stronger and bolder, a prideful and indignant rage, and she frowned, clenching her fists on her knees.  
  
“I don’t want anyone else.” she replied, hissing her words, perfectly aware of Solas’ presence. The noises and laughs of the clan partially covered their conversation and he was still turned to Varric, but she didn’t want to risk it.  
  
She still hadn’t see how much his shoulders were tense and rigid and the way his head was hanging.  
  
“He is my _vhenan_.” she continued and the three women were taken aback by her tone and angry face. “And he is such a beautiful, wonderful, kind man! You have no idea how good, brilliant, and charming he is!” She breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure, but to no avail. “I don’t care if he is older than me, that doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you don’t find him attractive, he is to me, and that’s what counts. To be frank, I don’t care what you think _at all_ and if you sat here just to criticize my lover, then you can leave.”  
  
The three women remained silent as Lavellan angrily went back to her now cold food and a heavy, stressful silence lasted for many embarrassing minutes, until the huntress spoke up again:  
  
“We apologize, Inquisitor. We didn’t mean offense.”  
  
“Too bad, I am already offended.” Lavellan grumbled and glared at the other elf when she lightly touched her arm.  
  
“We were just… curious.” the huntress, looking visibly sorry, shook her head. “He is not the kind of lover we would expect another Dalish to choose. We know your situation is now particular, but…”  
  
“He is a _great_ choice. I am very lucky to have him.” Lavellan replied, a massive scowl etched on her face. “I love him and I am proud of him.”  
  
In that right moment, Solas got up. The dinner was almost over, anyway, and he excused himself, saying he needed some fresh air far from the fire.  
  
Lavellan looked at his back as he walked away, her blood turning into ice, her heart beating too fast. Had he heard…?  
  
She quickly stood up as well, forgetting about the hearth cake she had left on the grass, but before she could follow him, Hawen approached her.  
  
“Inquisitor? May I have a word?”  
  
“I…” Lavellan glanced back at Solas, who was heading towards the edge of the camp, alone, shoulders slumped down, as if he was carrying a heavy weight. She bit her lips and nodded quickly, impatiently, not caring about well manners.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Hawen brought her near the aravels, where less people were; the clan was still cleaning things up near the hearth, so they were alone and could talk in peace.  
  
“Inquisitor, you have helped my clan greatly and for this I am most thankful.” Hawen started and Lavellan dreaded what was about to come, because if what the breeder had said was true, then the Keeper had something very specific in mind.  
  
“I am always happy to help my people.” Lavellan replied with controlled politeness, her eyes moving to Solas every few seconds. She could still see him, standing near the river, looking down at the water.  
  
“I allowed Loranil to join your Inquisition and his messages have been reassuring. Your words tonight confirmed them and it makes me equally happy to hear he is doing you a great service.” Hawen put a hand under his chin and observed Lavellan with curiosity.  
  
“Tell me, have your ever thought about strengthening your alliance with a Dalish clan?”  
  
Lavellan inwardly groaned and for the second time that night she prayed the Creators to open a Rift under her feet and make her disappear into the Fade. They didn’t listen - again - and she had to face the embarrassing topic.  
  
“No, Keeper.” she answered, mustering all her patience and kindness. “I have no interest in doing so… not in the way you are suggesting, anyway.”  
  
“Oh?” Hawen looked surprised for a second, then let out a brief laugh. “I guess you’ve already been told, then.”  
  
“I am flattered, Keeper Hawen, I know how important a marriage between a member of your clan and the Inquisitor would be for your people, but I am already in a relationship with someone else and I have no intention of breaking up with him.” Lavellan stood straighter just like she had done when speaking with the three women and her expression was serious, accepting no excuses.  
  
“The mage without _vallaslin_ , right?” Hawen didn’t try to hide his disapproval now. “I have no right to comment about your personal relationships, Inquisitor, but would you allow a worried _hahren_ to give you a piece of advice? Not just because you are refusing my offer. You cannot surely believe such a relationship to be productive or positive in the future.”  
  
“Your clan already explained it to me.” Lavellan replied bitterly and crossed her arms, signaling her wish to end the conversation as soon as possible. “And I gave my answer. We will have to find other ways to strengthen our alliance.”  
  
“I see. I apologize on behalf of my people too, if their words have wounded you.” Hawen cleared his throat and stepped back. “It’s a pity, though. One of our best warriors had also volunteered to be part of this… idea, in case you were interested. Now that I know you won’t accept, I will tell him there is no need for him to leave the clan.”  
  
“The Inquisition’s doors are always open for everyone who wishes to join.” Lavellan reminded him, but this time it was Hawen who shook his head, refusing.  
  
“No, Inquisitor, one member is already too much. We lost too many people this year, as you well know.” He bowed his head, a respectful, although cold, gesture that Lavellan returned. “Thank you for your time, _da’len_. And don’t be too surprised, when more requests and proposals will arrive to you from all Thedas.”  
  
Lavellan watched him walk away with a bad feeling festering in her heart. He was right, of course. Josephine had already made some innocuous jokes about “all the nobles of Thedas fighting for your hand, Inquisitor!” and even though no letters or messages of that kind had arrived yet, Lavellan knew that what had transpired that night in Hawen’s camp was just the beginning, the hint that something bigger was coming.  
  
His wasn’t the only clan interested in marrying one of their people with the mighty elven Inquisitor; the more she did, the more powerful her organization became, the more her suitors grew in number. And if a simple Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains had already made plans to wed the scout already working for her or one of its warriors to her, then there were no doubt other bigger groups interested in seeing her married with one of their chosen, lucky guys.  
  
Creators, she wasn’t going to allow that. She was ready to answer angrily to every single letter, if necessary, and show everyone how happy she was with Solas. No one in her Inner Circle, nor in all Skyhold, had made any ill comment about them. There had been crude, silly jokes from Sera and Iron Bull, knowing glances and smirks from Leliana, giggles from Josephine and happy sighs from Cassandra, even a wink from Dorian, Krem, and the dwarven bartender, but nobody had dared to criticize their relationship and rudely warn her about possible problems.  
  
The thought of the three women asking her questions and meddling in her business still made her grit her teeth in rage. Fuming and livid, she went to gather her cot and heavy blanket for the night from their bags they had left near the smaller fire, which had been rekindled as Hawen had promised. The clan was getting into the aravels to rest and wishes of goodnight and safe sleep echoed in the camp, many of them directed at the Inquisitor too. She returned them politely, even hugging some of the children, until the warrior that had been watching her all night smiled at her and repeated the wish of a good, warm night with too much sweetness.  
  
She answered with a mumble and a deep frown and ignored him as he, confused, went into an aravel without saying anything else.  
  
She _completely_ ignored Cassandra when she chuckled and told her that “that elf has asked me many questions about you, Inquisitor”.  
  
And she put all her effort into searching for Solas; she looked around, until he appeared behind her, holding in his hands the hearth cake she had forgotten after speaking with the three women.  
  
“If I recall correctly, you wanted to keep this for last.” he said to her with a soft smile and Lavellan’s heart swelled with joy and love, touched by his gesture and thoughtfulness. She thanked him with a kiss, took the cake and put it in her bag, before smiling back at him and asking breathily: “Do you want to sleep with me? Not here, maybe. Somewhere more… private.” she added quickly, wishing to stay alone with him, far from Varric and Cassandra so they could talk and cuddle freely.  
  
“I know the right place.” Solas nodded, taking his own cot, and Varric intervened, worried for them: “Are you going to be alright so far from the fire, lovebirds?”  
  
“Do not worry, Master Tethras.” Solas replied, his smile never faltering, his voice containing a hint of smugness. “We know how to keep each other warm.”  
  
“Nevermind, Chuckles. Pretend I didn’t ask anything.” the dwarf snorted as Cassandra, already inside her bedroll, groaned loudly. Lavellan wished them goodnight, stifling her giggles, and then followed Solas to the outskirts of the camp, where the usual statue of Fen’Harel had been placed.  
  
“Here?” she exclaimed, surprised. The statues of the Dread Wolf were used to keep demons far from the camp and protect it, but it was rare for Dalish elves to approach them voluntarily and spend time near them.  
  
“Scared of the Dread Wolf, _vhenan_?” Solas asked, his cot already down on the ground; his tone was teasing and serious at the same time, letting her know he was ready to move if she wasn’t comfortable there. Not wanting to appear overly superstitious - it was just a statue, after all, and surely the Dread Wolf had better things to do than pay attention to two lovers resting near one of his portrayals -, Lavellan shook her head and rested her bedroll next to Solas’, slipping under the leather and blanket she had brought.  
  
“Not if I am with you.” she answered with a grin as Solas joined her on the ground and she didn’t miss the way his eyes glinted with amusement, but also something similar to a bittersweet sentiment she couldn’t quite grasp. He used a spell to warm their bedrolls and keep them that way for all night, then he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his chest.  
  
Lavellan breathed in his scent; grass and old paper, elfroot and humid soil. Even a hint of sweat, but she liked it - no matter what Dorian and Vivienne said - and she nuzzled her face against his neck as he kissed her head.  
  
She raised it to look at him and the sight of him nearly made her gasp. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, solemn and regal, his eyes deep and dark, his gaze intense and tender at the same time. She kissed his chin, then his cheek, and finally his lips. She couldn’t understand how people couldn’t see beauty in him; was it because they didn’t know him as well as she did? Was it because he was different and so unwilling to be at the center of attention, far from everyone’s focus?  
  
It didn’t matter. She was there for him and she would make sure to tell him how proud of him she was. Since their first conversation at Haven, she’d had the impression that he wasn’t used to talking with someone about his interests nor being listened to when he spoke. She promised she would do her best to keep making him feel respected.  
  
So she raised a hand and caressed his face, tracing a finger down his cheek, until he turned his head to playfully bite it. Lavellan giggled and the sound made Solas smile.  
  
“You have a beautiful smile, you know that?” she said and Solas looked surprised for a moment, almost shocked, as if she had gone mad. Then he made that cute noise of his - a snorting laughter - and pressed his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes.  
  
“Thank you, _vhenan_.” He kissed her nose, then: “But I believe yours is way more beautiful than mine.” He slowly turned serious and rested his palm on her cheek, his thumb stroking her _vallaslin_ , then moving to touch her lips.  
  
He looked sad and Lavellan braced for what was coming, sure that her worst fears had come true.  
  
“My heart.” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you happy with me?”


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan stared at Solas for a long time, eyes big and confused, mouth slightly agape, his long fingers still touching her hot cheeks. Then she blinked, babbled some unintelligible words, and closed her mouth, dumbfounded.

It occurred to her that Solas was going to take that as a negative answer, an “I’m not happy with you”, so she mentally kicked herself for being a so big fool and hurried to speak, quickly, without pause, as she often did when she was nervous or anxious.

“Of course I am!” she exclaimed, maybe too loud. “Solas, I am the happiest soul in Thedas when I’m with you!”

She gripped his worn shirt and pressed their bodies together, never losing eye contact with him, panic filling her bones; Solas touched her lips with his thumb again, the strong sadness still lingering on his face, then he leaned down to kiss her, a soft brush of his mouth against hers.

“Would you prefer someone younger?” he asked, his voice so low and deep it sent hot shivers run along her back down to her belly. She felt both hot and cold, though, and Solas’ eyes searched on her face for an answer she hoped was clear enough. She didn’t want him to have doubts, to be scared, to feel worthless.

“No, Solas.” she said, cradling his face in her small hands. “I want you. Only you.” She let out a shaky sigh, tears blurring her sight, and she felt stupid and childish, because Solas hated seeing her cry and now her tears were only going to upset him more.

She couldn’t help it, though, and when Solas descended on her again to kiss her wet eyes, she nearly choked on the sob building in her throat.

“I’m sorry you had to listen to what those women said!” she exclaimed, voice cracking, gripping his vest again, clinging to him, their legs tangled beneath the leather. “They don’t know better, Solas, the mentality in the Dalish clans about marriages and mates has to be rigid for several reasons, so please, don’t…!” She bit her lips, the tears now running freely along her cheeks, first touching her _vallaslin_ , then going down until they fell on the bedroll.

Solas patiently waited for her to conclude and she did, so lost into his eyes nothing else mattered in the world, not the Venatori, not the Rifts, not Corypheus.

“Don’t believe their words. I don’t need someone younger, I don’t _want_ someone younger.” Her tears of sorrow turned into an angry, humid frown. “And you _are_ handsome! I still don’t understand how they can’t see that - they must be blind without knowing it! Or maybe an Envy demon possessed them and they told me those things just to hurt us and now they are going to haunt all the young ladies in the Exalted Plains and-”

Solas’ chuckle interrupted her and Lavellan abruptly fell silent, surprised by the sudden, beautiful sound that always managed to make her feel light and happy and warm.

“Breathe, _vhenan_.” he murmured, the deep sadness in his eyes replaced by the gentle heat that so often she could see in him in their intimate moments; it was like a controlled wave, absolutely harmless, but so, oh so powerful and filling, and she always drown in it, let it complete her until only Solas remained, Solas and his strong hands, Solas and his sweet murmurs, Solas and his laughter against her neck.

“Breathe.” he repeated, a whisper into her ear that made her gasp. “Or you won’t have enough strength to kiss me back.”

He was looking at her, grinning, and she hurried to pull him closer, crashing their mouths together and smiling into his. The kiss was awkward as hers always were, still a bit unexperienced and so enthusiastic Solas had to hold her head still in order to open her lips and taste her better. When they pulled apart, she was panting and he had a streak of saliva running down a corner of his mouth.

“I want only you.” Lavellan repeated, breathy, sweet, soft, wrapping her arms around his neck, eyes twinkling in the moonlight, and Solas pinned her down, covering her body with his own.

“Not the strong warrior who never stopped staring at you tonight?” he asked, anger and distaste directed at the other man clear in his voice, and Lavellan shook her head, saddened by his doubts, nearly aroused by his jealousy.

“Not even cheerful Loranil, who always waves at you when we come back to Skyhold?” Solas’ face was a few inches from hers, now, and his long fingers were massaging her sides, digging gently, without force, into her skin through her clothes.

“He does?” Lavellan’s eyebrows rose and confusion replaced the soft look in her eyes. “I never noticed that!”

An odd light appeared in Solas’ eyes and he smiled, satisfied and smug. He also looked so _relieved_ Lavellan couldn’t stop the fit of giggles building in her throat and she hid her face into his shoulder, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Ah, my love.” Solas sighed, kissing her ear. “You cannot imagine the happiness your answer gives me.”

Lavellan laughed harder, squirming under Solas’ touches and pecks on her cheek, open-mouthed kisses that left her skin wet, their sound making the heat in her belly stronger.

“What about Cillian, the Arcane Warrior?” Solas insisted and Lavellan raised her head; his face was expressionless and only his voice showed how much he had thought about that, how much the idea of her being with someone else haunted and wounded him beyond words. “He would be a fine mate. Your clan would bless your union.”

“But I wouldn’t.” Lavellan replied, her smile as soft as her tone and she saw Solas’ emotions change again, so quickly she giggled a second time. He laughed with her, but she wanted to be sure he had no more doubts, so she asked, taking him by the ear and tugging at it playfully: “Are you convinced now? Do you finally believe I want to be with you?”

“I already knew that, _vhenan_.” Solas murmured, leaning into her touch when her hand rested on his cheek. He sighed through his nose. “I just… I fear I might not be the wisest choice.”

He yelped when she pushed him up and sat up abruptly, a deep frown marking her delicate features.

“Solas, you are the most foolish, brilliant, and _infuriating_ man in all Thedas!”

“Yeah, you tell him, Inquisitor!” Varric called from the camp, before Cassandra’s foot in the groin convinced him to stay quiet.

The two elves stared at the figures in the distance for a brief time, then Lavellan’s attention snapped back to Solas, cheeks on fire.

“Stop with this self-deprecation!” she whispered through gritted teeth, shaking him by his robes. “Why shouldn’t you be the wisest choice?”

“I have nothing to offer you.” Solas promptly answered, as if he had repeated those things to himself multiple times. “No aravels for your clan, no land, no wealth, no influence.”

“Stop it.” Lavellan glared at him openly now, her fists almost tearing off the fabric of his vest. “You know I don’t need those things.”

“I am an elven apostate. And I spend the majority of my time sleeping, studying, or painting when I’m not with you.” Solas’ face was sad again and Lavellan felt the sudden urge to tackle him on the ground and smooch him until he was finally relaxed again. She was going to do it, as soon as she made herself and her love for him perfectly clear.

“In case you have forgotten, I am an elf too.” she started and when Solas opened his mouth to add something else, she put a finger on his lips and continued: “I love sleeping and I love sleeping _with you_ and visiting the Fade together. I enjoy our studies and I learned so much from your lessons I will never be able to thank you enough. I adore watching you paint, even though I can’t hold a brush for the life of me.”

“ _Vhenan…_ ”

“Solas.” she took his head in her hands and rested her forehead against his, looking into his eyes, nimble fingers playing with his ears. “I want to stay with you. I love being with you, I...” She fell silent, not because she didn’t want to say the next words, but because she _wanted_ , oh, she wanted to scream them with all her heart!

He had been the first who had confessed his love, that day on the balcony in her quarters, and she had always called him _vhenan_ or _ma sa’lath_ , confirming that she thought the same, that she returned that feeling, that she considered him her home, heart, her same soul.

But she still had to say it clearly, in the most common way that most people seemed to use so much. She still had to say “I love you” and it wasn’t because she didn’t believe in her own feelings for him or didn’t believe in _Solas’_ love for her. She knew they loved each other. She just wanted the moment to be special, she wanted everything to be perfect and wanted Solas to feel comfortable.

Also all her inexperience and all the confusing things she had heard and read stopped her. When was the right moment to say it? How should she say it? Casually, like she had heard some women at Skyhold say to their men before they went out of the gates? With all the emotion she felt exploding in her heart when she looked at him? Were there rules Solas expected her to follow, a particular way to say it that she wasn’t aware of?

Maybe that was why he had so many doubts, though. Did he doubt she loved him? Was that why he felt so inadequate? Was he waiting for an “ _Ar lath, ma vhenan”_ from her or feared it would never come?

She hesitated, the words just about to escape from her mouth; she felt ready, she had always been ready to say what she felt for him fully, but then she heard Varric’s fit of coughs coming from the center of the camp, she smelled the meat they had burned that night, and she saw the statue of the Dread Wolf, standing just behind Solas, its menacing figure staring at the darkness. She blushed, disappointed because the moment and the place were not the right ones, and she didn’t want Solas to think she was saying it to him _now_ because she pitied him or some terrible thing like that. She knew he could never consider her so shallow, he respected her too much for that, but people’s hearts were a weird, mysterious thing and Solas’ heart was the most mysterious and fragile of them all.

So she smiled at him, her hands still cradling his head, and continued softly, as if she hadn’t stopped at all:

“Hawen and those women are wrong about you - you are the best choice I have ever made in my life.” She sighed, her hands now on his shoulders; she fixed the wrinkles on the old clothes, smoothing them and making a mental note to make a new armor for him once they were back at Skyhold.

“So please…” she said, looking up back at Solas, who was staring at her intensely. “Don’t ever doubt your worth again.”

He moved fast and before she could say something else or react, he had her pinned down on the cot again and his mouth was on hers, open, but never intruding. Lavellan squealed in surprise, the sound turning into a happy moan, and she held him tight, pressing herself against him until her bones hurt.

Solas pulled back slightly to catch breath and looked down at her with so much love and admiration, any sensed word left her and she stared back, timid and flushed.

“If only you knew…” he murmured, sounding desperate and scared like she had never heard him before; she didn’t have enough time to think about what he meant, though, because he spoke again, cupping her burning cheek: “I have difficulty in understanding what you see in me, _vhenan_ , but I believe you and I thank you for your love and respect.” He lightly bit her bottom lip, groaning in pleasure, and added: “And I am so, so _selfish_ , my light, I cannot give this up.”

“Then don’t.” Lavellan whispered, peppering his face with tiny, teasing kisses, happy that he had acknowledged her love for him, that he knew she loved him. “Don’t give this up. You don’t have to.”

Solas whimpered, rubbing his hips against hers, and slipped a hand under her shirt; his warm, calloused fingers touched her belly and Lavellan squirmed again, looking for more contact, eager to feel him around her, inside her, to feel his passion envelope her like a blanket and give him the same pleasure, centuplicated, in return. She was still a bit awkward and tense during sex and had only foggy ideas of what could be done in bed, but Solas was patient and kind and sometimes he proceeded cautiously, as if he himself wasn’t sure how to do certain things.

“May I?” he asked, brushing a digit against her smalls, waiting for her permission, and she laughed, touched by his kind manners.

“Solas, you don’t have to ask. We have done this before.”

He hummed with a smile, his finger teasing the soft flesh, and replied, his other hand caressing her hair: “That’s exactly why I have to.”

Lavellan bit back a moan when the finger finally touched her _there_ and she bucked against the welcomed contact; she snapped out of her quickly-building bliss and remembered she had hands which were not doing much of a good job in making Solas feel good as well. She used one to tentatively grab his erection, which she could feel pressed against her through his pants; his finger was not completely inside her yet, but when she gripped the hard manhood with more confidence, Solas groaned and finally filled her, curling the digit to touch the sweet spot that always made her go crazy.

“Is this alright?” Lavellan asked, panting, pupils blown because no matter how many times they had done that before, she always couldn’t believe such pleasure could exist. She hoped she could make Solas feel the same sensations and she thought she was succeeding, because he moaned - loudly, so much someone in the camp had probably heard him - and licked the pulse on her neck, placing humid kisses on the skin there, even suckling to leave those marks that she always wanted to show, despite the outraged looks of the nobles at Skyhold.

“ _‘Ma’sal’shiral_ …” Solas moaned again in delight when she pulled down his breeches to finally touch him decently. He licked her lips and when she opened her mouth to better kiss him, he sighed happily and used tongue, relishing in her taste and her softness.

“This is _perfect_.” he said, inserting a second finger, and Lavellan muffled her sweet whimpers with her free hand, worried about the others sleeping just a few meters away. But Solas shook his head, grinning broadly, and made her remove it, keeping it down on the cot, their fingers entwined.

“Let me hear your pleasure, my love.” he continued, pushing deeper his fingers into her, then pulling them away with swift moves. “Don’t mind the others. There is just you and me.” He leaned down, their breath mingling, and he stroked the pad of his thumb against her clitoris, making her keen. Her strokes around his manhood became erratic, desperate, and Solas’ grunts started echoing in the air.

“And Fen’Harel.” Lavellan managed to say, referring to the statue right next to them, a smile on her reddened, sweaty face. Solas stilled his hand for a second, eyes wide, then smiled in return and moved it faster; he locked eyes with her, hypnotizing her with his gaze. His eyes were dark, but Lavellan could see the stars in them, the stars and all his love, brighter than the sun.

“Do not fear the Dread Wolf, _ma vhenan_.” he said softly and heatedly at the same time. “He won’t hurt you. He will never hurt you.” It was a promise and Lavellan felt safe, because she knew he was going to stay at her side, there and in the Fade alike. She arched her back to kiss him and he chuckled, his fingers gently fondling her folds, bringing her to the climax without hurry, making sure she would enjoy every tiny bit of pleasure.

Lavellan understood and slowed down as well, rubbing her thumb against the wet head of his manhood, listening to his small noises of delight, giggling when he pecked her nose, moaning when he played with her clitoris or simply scissored his long fingers inside her.

“Dressed in white and gold.” he started suddenly, breathing heavily as Lavellan squeezed his erection and began to pump it faster. “Flowers in your hair and songs and magic all around you, praising you, your soul, your mind, your kind heart, your smile- _agh!_ ” He bit his lips as Lavellan mewled under him, bucking against his fingers, seeking the orgasm she still hadn’t reached, and he finally began to give it to her, with a kiss and his open palm pressed against her womanhood, the wrist rubbing again the sensitive clitoris.

“We would dance until dawn, my love, and then we would go to our home as the sun illuminates your face.” He whimpered with her, his hand against her wet quim making squelching sounds, then he continued: “I would make love to you for days, _arasha_ , and we would live happily, surrounded by peace and bliss, our children running in the house, soft kisses on your beautiful eyes to wish you good morning and goodnight every day, your smile and laughter and happiness the only thing I would need to live.”

Solas almost sobbed and his next words were filled with longing, an intense desire of living with her that life he had just described.

“Can you see it, _vhenan_? Our marriage, vows of eternal love pronounced among trees and fields of flowers? Can you see our house, not far from Skyhold? Can you see yourself sitting on my lap at night in front of the fire, reading and talking, a domestic bliss that has no equals?” Lavellan gasped, her orgasm finally building, growing, pooling inside her, and she stared up at Solas with pleasure, awe, and surprise written over her face. Her little sounds made him groan and he thrust into her hand, searching for more friction.

“I would give you children, my love, all the sons and daughters we desire.” They moaned in unison and Solas nuzzled her neck, speaking fast, his hot breath caressing her heated flesh: “Oh, I can give them to you, I swear! And we would raise them and love them and you would be so, so _beautiful_ , glowing in motherhood, with flower crowns on your head and all Thedas kneeling for you, _ma sa’lath_ , _ma av’in_.”

A final brush of his hand on her open cunt and clit and Lavellan came, screaming his name, clinging to him, her delicate hand still on his erection, but lost, still, shaking; he guided it with his own and came as well, spending on her belly with a shaky sigh, watching the white droplets fell on her writhing body through his long eyelashes.

He fell next to her and pulled her close, not minding the slick on her body; Lavellan cuddled into his arms, taking deep breaths, and even in the post-orgasm haze her eyes were still attentive, curious, and full of happy surprise.

Solas kissed her forehead and they stayed like that in comfortable silence, their pants still unlaced, semen and slickness drying on their skin. They could hear the fire crackle in the distance and the bugs and small animals around them; after some minutes used to regain breathe, Lavellan raised her head slightly and looked at Solas, unable to fight the smile growing on her face.

He slipped his hand below and summoned a water spell to wash her skin; despite the slightly cold sensation, it was not unpleasant, but in fact very welcomed, and Lavellan’s breath hitched in her throat when Solas’ hand moved between her legs. He didn’t try to coax another orgasm from her, knowing she was still sensitive, but he brushed a teasing finger along her slit, making her gasp and thump him.

“Better?” he chuckled, voice hoarse, and when she nodded, half of her face pressed on the leather pillow to hide her smile and blush, he kissed her cheek and started cleaning himself. They pulled on their pants and fixed their clothes, aware that they were going to be wrinkled and probably dirty the next morning, and went back to relax under the still warm cot.

“Solas…” Lavellan breathed, her fingers stroking his jawline, which she adored. “Thank you for what you said before.”

He observed her, his gaze tender, but sad again, and then he lowered his eyes.

“I am sorry.” he said, almost inaudible. “That… that was inappropriate.”

Her eyebrows rose in panic.

“Why?” she exclaimed. “Solas, I appreciated that! It was so beautiful and…!” she sighed, her hands on his chest, right on his jawbone pendant. She traced its hard teeth, careful not to break it or ruin it.

“It meant a lot to me.” she whispered, looking up at him again, hope written all over her face, and Solas automatically leaned down, their mouths just a few inches apart.

“It wasn’t inappropriate.” she continued. “It was very, very sweet and I thank you for it.”

He was so _close_ to her, now, and Lavellan felt desire build up again in her body, like a flame, her longing for him never satisfied, their kisses and touches never enough. When his hands started roaming down and up her back, she shivered and imagined what he had described to her.

A cozy house in the Frostback Mountains from which Skyhold was visible, so that she could always stay in contact with the Inquisition. Or maybe they could live at Skyhold, her current quarters turned into their bedroom, beautiful rooms just for their children - _two, a little boy and a little girl to spoil and drown in kisses and hugs_ -, a huge home filled with friends and warmth. Solas would teach them so many things and she would sing Dalish lullabies to them and show them how to hunt and love animals, people, and the world they lived in.

She and Solas would watch them grow into beautiful members of the People, respectful of their ancient, noble past, ready to live in the current time and, if they wanted, help it change for the better, maybe at the Inquisition’s side.

She tried to imagine their faces. Would they look like her? Would they inherit Solas’ eyes or his cleft chin? Would the boy’s hair be like hers or the girl’s smile like Solas’?

She was so lost in her fantasies that when he spoke again, it made her jump.

“I fear this is not the right time to indulge in these thoughts.” He still looked pretty sad, especially when he continued: “We have a war to win and Corypheus is a powerful enemy. We do not know what we will have to face.”

It was probably unwise to think about the future and delude oneself when the present was so uncertain and full of dangers, yes, but there was always hope and those beautiful mental imagines, those scenes of domestic life and love, gave enough strength to fight for that same, idyllic future.

So she smiled at Solas and squeezed his hand, bringing it on her chest.

“I know. But I am the Inquisitor and I will do everything in my power to save everyone. That’s part of my job, isn’t it? And I promised it to you, back at Haven. I promised I would have protected you.” Her look became intense, a blazing sun in her eyes. “We will live, Solas, and once there is peace we will be free to make that dream a reality.” She stopped, wide-eyed, mouth agape, and immediately focused on everything but Solas; his pendant, her own hands, even the statue of the Dread Wolf she could see standing behind him.

“I… I mean…!” she stuttered, blush spreading to her ears. “If you still will want me and _that_ , of course!” She took a deep breath, cursing herself for her sudden panic and shyness that prevented her from speaking normally and with much more sense. “I know many things will change with peace and we don’t have to talk about this now, you are right, there is no hurry and you should take all the time you need-”

She had said that before, back when their relationship was just starting and they had shared only that fateful kiss in the Fade. He was a considerate man and even though she suspected all the restrain and holding back she had seen in him were caused by the lack of confidence and doubts he had expressed that night, she didn’t want to push into his boundaries too much nor make him uncomfortable by invading his space. He had showed interest in taking the next, huge step in their relationship - a _great_ interest - and for that she was so, so happy and grateful.

He confirmed that interest by kissing her, with urgency and passion.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said breathlessly when he pulled away. “I will always - _always_ \- want and love you. Never doubt that.” He sighed, his calloused thumbs smoothing the worried lines on her brow, then moving down to stroke her cheek and brush upon her _vallaslin_. She noticed again how regal he looked, how noble his profile was, how wise his eyes were. There was something in Solas that she couldn’t right place nor give a name to, a sort of innate, sophisticated nobility that had started to come out more often, coexisting with his modest mannerisms that Dorian liked to call “typical of a hobo”.

“I admit I often indulge in those fantasies.” Solas continued. “I don’t think about the Fade as much as I used to. Now most of my thoughts are filled by you and…” Another sigh. “And what I wish we could have in the future.”

“Is that a good thing?” Lavellan asked with a grin and a raised eyebrow, half-joking, half-wondering with worry if he minded being distracted from his studies and main hobby. Apparently he didn’t, because he smiled - a broad thing that lightened his eyes and made him look so _gorgeous_ \- and answered: “It is. You make me feel alive and young, like I have never felt before.” He tapped her nose, an amused, playful smirk on his lips. “Because I _am_ old, my heart. On this those women were right.”

“I don’t care.” she repeated, laughing and hugging him, and she felt elated when he kissed her neck, pressing his face into it and inhaling slowly.

“I am happy to hear that.” he said. Another kiss. “Let us sleep, now. The way back to Skyhold is long and we faced a dragon today. We need to rest.”

Lavellan cuddled up against him, smiling when his long fingers brushed back her hair behind her ear.

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asked as she always did every night. And as always he answered, returning the smile and kissing her forehead: “Of course. Goodnight, _vhenan_. I will see you soon.”

“Goodnight, _ma sa’lath_.”

The joy in Solas’ eyes told her that he truly believe her and even though she still hadn’t found the right time to say those words, she knew it didn’t matter now. Hope mixed with certainty was strong in her heart, thrumming like the Anchor on her hand, and one day soon she would pronounce those words and then…

And then, once there was peace…

She drifted into the Fade, unable to fight sleep any longer, warm in Solas’ arms. She soon found herself in a sunny, vast field of flowers and her heart skipped a beat, because she knew Solas had brought her here. She didn’t know the place, maybe it didn’t even exist and he had created it, but the meaning behind that choice was clear and she waited for him there, a huge smile on her lips.

She started making a flower crown for him and when he appeared at the horizon, holding a smaller one for her in his hands, she ran to him and threw her arms around him.

 

\- - -

 

When she woke up, she and Solas were not sleeping near the statue of Fen’Harel anymore. Their bedrolls were next to the now extinguished fire, just a few meters away from Cassandra and Varric and Lavellan thought hard and long about it, but she couldn’t remember moving at all during the night.

Solas was still sleeping and the sight was endearing and funny as always. Usually so controlled and elegant, even his stance and poses filled with dignity and a hint of pride through the whole day, he lost a big deal of that grace when he slept. He snored - even though he couldn’t believe it and always swore the contrary - and tended to drool. He was doing it now, face squished against Lavellan’s neck, arms tightly wrapped around her in a strong embrace. She could feel wetness on her skin, accompanied by his light snores in her ear, and giggled. She was used to it, every morning was like that, and she didn’t mind it. Actually, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to sleep without those sounds, Solas’ drool on her pillow, and his body pressed against hers. He always held her during the night and that was another thing she couldn’t live without.

She looked at the sky: a light shade of pink, interrupted by some small clouds. It was still early and the sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but she could hear the clan moving and preparing for the morning in the aravels. It was time for the Inquisition to go and frankly she couldn’t wait to leave that camp and go back to the reassuring, familiar fortress that had become her second home.

“Solas?” she called softly, shaking gently the hand resting on her belly. He hummed, rubbed his face on her neck, and took a deep breath, slowly awakening.

While waiting, she looked at their companions. Cassandra was sleeping all curled up on herself, her short hair sticking out from under the cot. Varric was snoring, way louder than Solas, an arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the increasing light.

“ _Vhenan_?” Solas murmured, his voice deeper, hoarse. She turned to look at him and grinned seeing his sleepy, swollen eyes, and small pout.

“Sleep well?” she asked and his expression instantly turned into a warm, drowsy smile as he nodded.

“Like always, when I am with you.”

Lavellan scoffed and looked at him from under her eyelashes, her grin growing, as well as her blush.

“Sweet talker.” she said softly and he chuckled, lifted her head with a finger under her chin, pressed a sweet kiss on her lips, and asked: “And you? Were your dreams pleasant?”

“Very much so.” Her gaze was full of awe, memories of the flower field in the Fade still fresh in her mind. Then reality hit her again and she looked around, frowning confused.

“Solas, how did we end up here?”

“I assumed the Dalish wouldn’t have liked us sleeping so near a statue of Fen’Harel.” he explained, slowly stretching his legs before getting up. “So I dragged our bedrolls back to the fire.”

“You did?” She looked at their cots as if she couldn’t believe it. “And I didn’t wake up…?”

“I made sure to be extremely careful in not moving you too much.” he chuckled, checking his clothes in case there were visible stains of semen on them from the previous night. “During the last moments of our dream, I briefly left you in the field to wake up and bring us here. My absence was so short you didn’t even notice it, too busy with our flower crowns.”

“Thank you.” Lavellan beamed up at him, touched by his sensitivity. She knew Solas couldn’t care less for Dalish superstitions, but their presence near the statue of the Dread Wolf would have indeed caused great concern and disapproval, all most likely directed at her, who was Dalish as well. His worry for her feelings and reputation made her giddy with joy.

“It was no problem. I fell back asleep immediately.” He stopped strapping his buckle and crouched to be at her eye level. She still hadn’t risen from her bedroll, waiting for sleep to leave her bones and head, and she closed her eyes, sighing happily, when he cupped her cheek.

“You look so beautiful when you sleep.” he murmured, with the same love and tenderness he had used the whole previous night, both in the waking world and in the Fade. “So relaxed and content. That is how you deserve to always be.”

“Oh?” Lavellan’s lips quirked and her eyebrows rose. “So I am beautiful only when I sleep?”

Solas tapped her nose, the playful gesture he used when he joked or simply wanted to be sweet. “I apologize. That was not what I meant.” He chuckled again and his elegant hands started to brush her hair, unruly and knotted after the intense night. “You look _radiant_ when you are awake.” He put a lock of hair behind her ear, stroking his fingertips along her jawline, then he leaned in.

“You are bright. You bring kindness and warmth wherever you go, your grace and brilliant mind a balsam for this world.” He pressed his soft mouth against hers and she made a little sound of pleasure. He slightly pulled away, holding her chin, and smiled, his gaze loving, intense, even proud. “You look like a queen, _vhenan_.”

Lavellan instinctively looked down, a deep shade of pink on her face. She wasn’t used to being called like that. When the humans had started referring to her as the Herald of Andraste and later Inquisitor and Worship, she had always been tense, embarrassed. Even now, after all those months, she still had difficulty in hearing those titles used to address her, especially when other elves did it.

Back in her clan, she was just a huntress and only the Keeper had authority above everyone else in the group. No one was superior to the others and those of queens and kings were just stories narrated around the fire, most of them of human origin, since they had lost all references to elven rulers and important figures of Halamshiral and Arlathan.

Until now, nobody had ever called her a queen. Herald, Inquisitor, Worship, Milady, yes, but never queen. She didn’t feel like one - although she definitely influenced all Thedas with her decisions and choices - and her mind already had problems grasping the importance of her role as Inquisitor. Queen, ruler of something, was an idea that confused her. She had seen much, more than she could have ever imagined in the simple life her clan lead, but some concepts, some realities still baffled her, leaving her wondering if the world really worked like that or was all a part of a much bigger Game.

Solas, on the other hand… When she looked at him she could see a king and sometimes even something more. At first she hadn’t been able to give a name to it, but after spending more time with him, she had understood.

Sometimes, when the light hit him at a certain angle or he folded his arms behind his back, standing tall and proud, he would look _majestic_ and in those occasions she would find herself staring at him, imagining him dressed in golden clothes with red embroideries and rich fur on his shoulders. The strange illusion would break suddenly, when he would turn to look at her or fall asleep on his chair, chin against the chest, mouth hanging open.

She looked up at him and said, a shy smile on her lips because she didn’t want to sound silly or embarrass him: “I think you are the one who looks way more regal than me.”

Solas blinked, surprise replacing the softness on his face, and Lavellan continued, going back to look down at her lap: “Dorian is right, you are very nondescript and people notice you only after a while. But I _always_ look at you and I see more, I can see what’s inside, what’s beyond that outer layer. Sometimes, _you_ look like a king. A king or…” She laughed again, this time with amusement and a hint of fear of being judged. “Please, don’t mock me! Promise me you won’t laugh!”

“I promise.” Solas murmured, staring at her, tense like the string of a bow, and Lavellan took his hand, with that gentle smile that he loved so much: “A god. Sometimes you look like a god to me.”

She didn’t see his reaction, though, because a snort coming from behind made her jump and turn; Varric had woken up and was grinning at her, shaking his head.

“Really, Inquisitor? That’s so _cheesy_.” He nodded at Cassandra resting down next to him and Lavellan noticed with horror that she was awake too, only pretending to be still asleep.

“Isn’t that right, Seeker?” the dwarf asked, then he laughed, getting up to pack his bedroll. “Oh wait, I forgot you love that stuff! You are probably blushing and cheering for our romantic Inquisitor right now.”

“Stop it!” Cassandra hissed from under the blanket and Lavellan groaned, hiding her face behind her hands.

She missed the way Solas had paled, his sorrowful gaze, and clenched jaw; he quickly recovered and when they packed their stuff and greeted the clan coming out of the aravels, he was calm, back to his normal self again, although his hands were sweaty and trembling.

“Did you sleep well by the fire?” Hawen asked the Inquisitor and she bowed her head slightly, hoping her blush wasn’t too evident.

“Yes, Keeper. Thank you for your hospitality and kindness. We appreciated it.” Good manners required it, so she said in return: “I hope the clan had good dreams too.”

“Most of us.” Hawen replied, after a brief hesitation. He glanced at the warrior that had observed Lavellan the previous night; the young man looked tired and antsy, his eyes constantly searching for something at the river or the near forest, heavy dark circles under his eyes.

Hawen sighed. “He woke up abruptly last night, saying a giant wolf was chasing him in his dreams, eyes red like blood.” he glared, both angry and nervous, at the statue of Fen’Harel and cold sweat started to run down Lavellan’s neck and back. “It’s a bad sign. Seems like we will have to bring the Dread Wolf offerings to pacify him.”

The Inquisitor hurried to wish him good luck, thank him again, and say goodbye to the clan, part of her wondering with panic and guilt if she and Solas had angered the deity by frolicking and sleeping next to his statue. She hoped that was not the case, but she decided to make a small offering herself on the way back to Skyhold. Statues of the Dread Wolf were quite common in most regions of Thedas; she would make sure to do it at night, when the others couldn’t see her.

The three women called her _lethallan_ and squeezed her arm and shoulder in a second attempt to reconcile, a hug that wasn’t exactly a hug. Lavellan accepted their silent apologies by smiling and returning the gesture. She saw the warrior approaching, his bloodshot, frantic eyes an unsettling sight, but she pretended to be too busy with the other members of the clan to pay him attention. The last thing she wanted was a _full_ hug from him.

When she turned back to where he was, she saw him recoil and excuse himself, muttering something about a strong headache caused by sleep deprivation. Lavellan felt Solas’ warm hand on her back, but the next moment he was gone, letting her say goodbye to the older members of the clan.

The kids gathered around her, hugging her legs or giving her flowers. The little boy that had slept in her arms tugged at her coat to receive a kiss on the head, then rushed to Solas with his friends to thank him for his stories and patience. Lavellan observed with joy as the apostate turned a cute pink of red and bowed his head to thank them in return, a huge smile on his face.

Even Varric and Cassandra weren’t left out. The dwarf accepted the children’s thanks and compliments with an embarrassed, but pleased, grin and a rub on his neck; Cassandra took their flowers with a surprised and touched expression and kept them attached on her armor for the whole trip back to the fortress, glancing down at them with eyes full of awe once in a while, as if she hadn’t seen anything so sweet in years.

 

\- - -

 

Surprisingly, the trip went well. They encountered just a bunch of Red Templars causing disorders in a small village and when they met a caravan of humble merchants headed to Skyhold, they tagged along, much to the group’s joy and honor. They couldn’t believe the Inquisitor herself was accompanying them and offering them her protection for the long journey; they treated her with an excessive respect and, as it often happened, they completely forgot about her elven ears and continued to see her as an almost mythical figure.

When the young elven apprentice of the oldest merchant - a boy not older than fifteen - stared at her like she was Andraste herself, Lavellan felt the urge of showing him she was an absolutely normal member of the People. She _needed_ it, because his behavior was so different from the one of the children at the Dalish camp in the Exalted Plains; he cared too much for Lavellan’s status and for what she represented and his way of speaking and moving was servile, too modest, without dignity. His voice and eyes when he found the courage to speak to her were filled with an admiration that was borderline obsessive and unhealthy.

So, one day during lunch, she sat with him and asked him if he knew any elven song.

“Messer Oliver found me when I was a week old, Milady, Your Worship.” the boy stammered, bowing his head more than necessary. “He took me in and taught me everything he knows. But elven songs are not his thing.”

“He adopted you?” Cassandra asked and the boy bowed to her too. The light in his eyes was different when he talked to Lavellan, though, and he didn’t dare to look at her companions too much, preferring to stare at his crossed legs. Sometimes he glanced at Solas, intrigued by his look and the staff in his hand, but even the simplest look from the mage made him stare back at his feet in shame.

“There is still good in this world.” the Seeker sighed with approval, going back to the book laying open on her lap.

Lavellan grinned at the boy, wishing to see him relax, to convince him she was another elf and not just the mighty Inquisitor that could change whole Thedas with her choices or close Rifts with a flick of her wrist.

“I grew up in a Dalish clan and there are songs we sing during our travels. Would you like to learn one?”

The boy blushed, tensing up, and babbled, not wanting to sound disrespectful, but so tempted to say ‘yes’: “I-I don’t know the language, Your Worship. Messer Oliver only taught me the common tongue.”

“Then” Solas intervened, gaze attentive and solemn, “would you like to learn Elvhen?”

“I…” the boy looked back and forth from him to Lavellan. He seemed curious, but also insecure, small fingers clutching the fabric of his pants.

“It is also your legacy, after all.” Solas continued, noticing his difficulty. He was serious, waiting for an answer he thought he already knew. “Have you ever stopped to think about the blood flowing in your veins, boy? The past that the places you have visited carried within them? That is _our_ past.” With a wide gesture, he indicated the field the caravan had stopped in for a break. Elven ruins - elegant arches and tall, white walls covered by ivy - could be spotted in the distance.

“Even here you can see it. Are you not eager to know more? A human may have raised you, but you are still one of the People.”

The boy, who had been listening to him with wide eyes, blushed and fidgeted, now more timid than before.

“Do you think I could learn, Messer?” he asked and Solas’ surprise was evident, as if he hadn’t expected the boy to actually think about it.

“Of course, provided you put enough heart and attention into it!” he exclaimed and the young elf turned to Lavellan, a pleading look in his dark eyes.

“Your Worship, can you teach me? I want to learn our tongue!” his flushed face turned red like the lyrium the Inquisition had fought so often. “We traded stuff with a Dalish clan, once, and I heard the old woman who lead it…”

“The Keeper.” Lavellan kindly interrupted him, nodding, and the boy acknowledged that new term, memorized it, and continued, nodding in return: “And I heard the _Keeper_ say weird things, but I couldn’t understand her and I felt…”

“Ostracized?” Solas suggested and the young elf blinked at him.

“H-Huh?”

“It means ‘excluded’.” Lavellan explained and the boy looked appalled by the idea that even the common tongue could have secrets. “Did you feel excluded when you couldn’t understand the Dalish elves?”

“Yes.” he admitted. “I heard that they are the true elves, the true heirs of the elven heritage, so I felt…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Bad.”

Lavellan shuffled uncomfortably; she was perfectly aware of the conflict between the Dalish and city elves. Her clan didn’t judge the elves of the alienages as bad as other clans did; they pitied them, yes, but they were absolutely ready to welcome them if they decided to abandon the human cities. She knew other clans shunned them without mercy, using slurs and bad names to refer to them and refusing any kind of contact; she had seen how that Mihris had treated Solas, even calling him ‘flat-ear’ for being barefaced and clearly not of Dalish origin, and felt sorry for the boy sitting in front of her, who had probably thought to be less elven, less _true_ to his blood when he had met that clan.

“That is not true. We are all elves and we should stay together instead of fighting like foolish children.” she said, brushing back his hair so that she could see his face. The boy blushed and Lavellan laughed, turning to Solas, hope and warmth in her eyes.

“Want to help me, _vhenan_? You are way better than me at this.”

Solas looked at her in an odd way, a mix of admiration, wonder, and love, then smiled and nodded, scooting closer to her and the boy. The latter tilted his head and asked:

“What does _vhenan_ mean?”

 

\- - -

 

She and Solas spent the following days teaching the boy the basics of Elvhen language. He was a quick learner, curious and brilliant, and his shyness was soon replaced by an enthusiastic need to know and ask more.

Solas was stern, but patient, and rewarded every success with a proud smile, a pat on the boy’s back, and even sweets, which he kept in his pack and shared only with Lavellan in their tent and the others when their trips were hard and long and everyone was tired (once he had given up a whole frilly cake for Cole, who had been the only one in the group who still hadn’t tasted one).

The boy would sit with them during lunch and dinner, listening closely to what Solas and Lavellan told him. She tended not to dwell too much on the Dalish teachings, knowing that wasn’t what the boy needed; she used part of that knowledge for her lessons, though, and on more than one occasion the young elf asked her to describe the rituals and rules of her dalish clan, intrigued by their names. Lavellan did her best to answer without being too biased, fully aware that the boy wasn’t Dalish and Solas was just next to her, listening silently, but probably pondering over every word and scowling.

“Those marks.” the boy said one day, pointing at her face. “How are they called, your Worship?”

“ _Vallaslin_.” Lavellan smiled at him. “Try to understand what that means.”

The boy thought hard about it, a hand on his chin, a pose he had taken straight from Solas. He frowned, mumbling under his breath the words he had learned, then: “ _Vallas… Vallas…_ Uh… Blood writing?”

“Well done!” Lavellan laughed and the boy’s chest swell with joy. He tentatively reached out and brushed a fingertip against the mark on her cheek; she felt Solas bristle next to her, but he didn’t move and let the boy continue, until he asked: “I saw those Dalish wear them too. What are they?”

“They honor the elven gods.” Lavellan explained and didn’t see how dark Solas’ expression had become. “When we Dalish come of age, we can decide the kind of _vallaslin_ we want to wear for the rest of our life. Each _vallaslin_ is dedicated to a god of our pantheon, who becomes our patron and protector.”

“Which _vallaslin_ did you choose, Inquisitor?” the boy was using both hands to trace the patterns of her marks, now, and Lavellan chuckled, grasping his skinny wrists and gently removing the fingers from her face.

“I chose the simplest variant of Mythal’s. Do you want to know more about the gods?”

That day Solas didn’t talk much and preferred to listen rather than participate to the lesson. Lavellan didn’t notice his strange behavior, too busy with the boy and his incessant questions, but he stared at her with sorrow and something akin to an odd rage not directed at her for the whole time.

Only when they retired in their tent he was able to relax; he pulled her close, touching every inch of her face with his lips until she couldn’t stop giggling and wriggled to return the affections.

Even Varric and Cassandra often took part in the lessons. They listened and, in Varric’s case, took notes.

“Do you mind if I use these in my books?” he asked after Solas had finished listing elven endearments for family and lovers. The apostate and Lavellan shared a look - and her face was definitely _glowing_ after listening to all those beautiful words -, then he smiled with an “of course, Master Tethras”.

Cassandra had been affected by the list too. She asked Lavellan, eyes wide: “So when you are calling each other _vhenan_ , you are basically saying ‘you are my home’?”

When Lavellan nodded, she sighed and clasped her hands.

“Love” she said solemnly, “is a wonderful thing.”

 

\- - -

 

After two whole weeks, they finally reached Skyhold. As always, people and guests of the fortress greeted Lavellan with loud cries and cheers when they saw her walk through the gates. Guards from the walls signaled her safe return and the whole stronghold sprang into action to ensure a warm, comfortable welcome. Josephine appeared out of nowhere, accompanied as always by her clipboard and a broad smile, and in the distance Lavellan saw Loranil wave at her.

“Creators.” she muttered, returning the gesture and causing the young man to literally squeal in delight. “He _does_ wave at me when I come back!”

Behind her, Solas scoffed, the grip on his staff so strong his knuckles had turned white.

The elven apprentice had become quite good at speaking Elvhen, even though there was still much he needed to learn. He had developed a deep fascination for the lost culture and lore of the elves and he promised he would keep studying the language and all the information regarding the People he could find. The caravan of merchants was to stay at Skyhold just for a few weeks, unlike others who had decided to permanently trade and sell stuff there, but Solas reassured the boy, saying he would continue to teach him whenever he could.

The young elf was not as tense as before - although he was still extremely respectful - and when he approached Solas while Lavellan was saying goodbye to the merchants, he looked him right in the eyes.

“Thank you for what you taught me, Messer.” his blush reached his ears and Solas chuckled, leaning on his staff due to the stiffness of his legs after the long journey.

“I cannot guarantee I will always be at Skyhold, but if I am and you have doubts, come to me. I will be happy to help.” He glanced at Lavellan and his smile softened. “I am sure the Inquisitor will be too.”

“She… she is very kind.” the boy hesitated for a second, then: “I’d like to thank her too, Messer.”

“Then do it.” Solas raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into a smug smirk. “You know the words now.”

“Yes, but…”

Solas chuckled again and crouched down, flinching when his knees complained painfully.

“Be candid, straightforward. Do not embarrass her with excessive titles.” He nodded at the merchants who were basically bending over to bow to her. Lavellan was trying to convince them that was not necessary, that she had enjoyed travelling with them, but the more they pronounced ‘Your Grace’ and ‘Venerable Inquisitor’, the more her expression turned grim and resigned.

“You are a good friend of hers now.” Solas continued, inwardly growling at the insufferable humans that were pestering his poor _vhenan_. “So act like it. Two members of the People who are in good terms with each other should not use unnecessary, pompous titles. Especially considering that our Inquisitor doesn’t believe to be the Herald of Andraste.”

“I wonder if her gods are angry for that name.” the boy muttered and Solas tensed up, pale.

“… Why?”

“Maybe they don’t want her to be the Herald of a human deity. That Elgar’nan guy sounds very irritable! And she wears the _vallaslin_ of Mythal, so maybe that goddess doesn’t want the Inquisitor to be Inquisitor either.”

The boy played with his hands, looking at Solas with worry, and asked with a feeble, little voice: “Are the Dalish gods going to hurt her, Messer Solas? Can they do that? I know they are locked away because a Wolf tricked them, but…”

“No.” Solas’ voice was equally low, but heated, a barely controlled growl. “No, I promise. They will never hurt her.”

The boy beamed at him, not seeing how much his question had affected him, and bowed his head.

“Thank you again for everything!” he wavered and his next word had a second effect on Solas, positive and negative at the same time. “… _Lethallin_.”

The boy ran off, heading to an exasperated Lavellan; her relief in seeing him was evident and her surprise and joy when the young one called her _lethallan_ made Solas’ heart leap in his chest.

He got up, hissing when his knees throbbed in pain again, and observed them with a bittersweet feeling growing in his heart. The boy considered him a friend, another member of the People he felt he had a kinship with, and that thought alone made his soul ache.

The sight of Lavellan laughing with the boy and hugging him stirred something in him and Solas found himself imagining again scenes of that life he so desperately craved.

When she raised her head and saw that he was watching her, she blushed and smiled, the boy’s arms still wrapped tightly around her waist. They exchanged some more words, then the young one left to help his adoptive father prepare the booths; Lavellan went back to Solas, finally free from the merchants, ready to take a bath and relax after all those tiresome days.

“He called me _lethallan_!” she exclaimed, bouncing on the spot. “Isn’t that great? He said he will continue to study Elvhen!”

She sighed happily and even with her messy hair, dirty clothes, and tired eyes she was to him the most beautiful person in Thedas, the most perfect creature he had ever seen in his long, long life.

“I am happy we did this.” she said softly, almost speaking to herself, and Solas gently grabbed her hand, squeezing it.

“So am I.” he replied and Lavellan’s smile eliminated every ounce of exhaustion in his body.

“After spending time with the kids in Hawen’s clan, I… I couldn’t just let that boy call me ‘Herald’ and treat me like that. It was too jarring, too… _wrong_. It made me uncomfortable.” She looked at Solas in an odd way, almost bashful and somewhat guilty. “You taught me and him many things that the Dalish clans would hardly approve of. When you met them and tried to speak to them… did you feel like the boy? Ostracized? Not because they knew so much, but because they knew _so little_? Because they wouldn’t understand?”

Solas didn’t answer immediately. He studied her face, his expression unreadable, his hand still grasping hers; then something appeared in his eyes, a light Lavellan had seen before in them, the same that illuminated his face when he thanked her for her kindness or was surprised by her wisdom and thoughtfulness.

“Yes.” he finally said and before Lavellan could reply, say that she was sorry even though it wasn’t her fault, he pulled her close and pressed his lips on her forehead, not paying mind to the people walking and working all around them.

“But I have you now.” he added, his smile sweet, sincere. “So I am not alone anymore.” Melancholy passed over his features, but it quickly went away as he added: “Thank you, _vhenan_.”

She gave him a warm smile, then a peck on the lips which caused his ears to become pink. She was about to lead him along the stairs of the main entrance and head directly for her quarters, when he spoke again:

“And you? Do you feel less alone?” He seemed to realize something and hurried to correct himself, sounding surprisingly timid: “Now that you have the Inquisition, I mean. Not just because we are…” He cleared his throat, looking down. “Although knowing my presence makes you feel better would please me greatly.”

“Then be pleased.” Lavellan said, not able to hold back the laughter bubbling in her throat. “Because I definitely feel less alone when I am with you, Solas.”

“Good.” he mumbled, tilting his head down to hide his smile. “Good.”

They stayed like that, hand in hand, for quite some time, both avoiding each other’s eyes, blushing and smiling goofily, basking in each other’s presence like they had done in the Fade version of Haven. Lavellan inwardly swore at the three women that had called Solas _old_ , because right now he looked like the most adorable child in the world and she felt proud knowing she was the cause of those dimples on his cheeks and his twinkling eyes.

Varric passed by, headed to his room, and winked at her, followed by a giggling Josephine. People glanced distractedly at them - or with badly hidden curiosity - until Solas cleared his throat again and asked: “Shall we go? We need a bath and I wouldn’t mind eating a decent meal with you, _ma vhenan_.”

“Hm.” Lavellan smirked at him as they went up the stairs, still hand in hand. “Are you saying I smell bad, Solas?”

“Yes.” he said with the frankest, smuggest, and brightest smile ever. “And so do I. But do not worry.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against her ear just as they passed down the main entrance. “I have a few ideas in mind on how to wash ourselves and smell… differently. Maybe not better, but differently for sure.”

“Then what’s the point?” Lavellan asked, wide-eyed, confused, until it hit her. “Oh! _Oh_.” She groaned when Solas laughed, a full, rich sound that echoed in the main hall and caused nobles and people of the Inquisition to turn in their direction.

“Go take your clean clothes and come to my quarters.” she whispered, thumping him, then her pout grew into a full smile. “I will prepare the water.”

“I will warm it with my magic.” Solas squeezed her hand one last time before stepping back, his smile as big as hers. “Wait for me, _vhenan_.”

She did and when he went up the stairs in her rooms, holding his usual Skyhold outfit in his arms, he found her near the filled bathtub, dressed only in her breastband and smalls, a deep shade of red on her face and neck.

He approached her slowly, tossing the clothes on the bed, and when he reached her, he put his hands on her hips, delicately, and kissed her, moaning into her mouth when she pressed herself against him.

And when he undressed, warmed the water, and joined her in the tub, wrapping his strong arms around her, she knew that, yes, they were at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, another long chapter! As before, I tried not to describe my Inquisitor, [Scarlet Lavellan](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/tagged/scarlet-lavellan), but some details have slipped into the story. I didn't set this during a specific mission, since I'd like to focus more on Solas and Lavellan's relationship and the interactions between the characters. There are references to what will happen in the future, though, such as Lavellan's "I love you" that she still hasn't pronounced... which she can say if a certain dialogue option is chosen during a certain scene. And I definitely chose that, because I like to suffer and crush my own heart.
> 
> I used FenxShiral's [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061) as references for some of the elven words found here. More precisely:  
> - _‘Ma’sal’shiral_ : My life. Essentially, “Love of my life,” or “You are my soul’s journey.”  
> - _Arasha_ : My happiness
> 
> Finally, forgive me for that smut scene. I tried my best, but English is not my first language and smut scenes always confuse me so much ;_; 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

When Lavellan woke up in her bed, surrounded by a messy pile of sheets and blankets, it was already dark outside and she was _starving_. The bathtub she had prepared hours before at the center of the room was still filled with water, now cold and dirty; next to her, an arm draped over her waist, face squished against the pillow, was Solas, snoring lightly.

She giggled and traced the freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose with her index finger, careful not to startle him. He had said she looked ‘peaceful’ when she slept, but he looked relaxed as well, the wrinkles of worry and concentration on his forehead and around his eyes gone.

She remembered what he had said to her that evening in the Dalish camp, how he had imagined her in a white and golden dress, the passion and love in his voice as he had described their marriage. Moving her hand down to his jaw - so strong and angular, it made her heart leap every time -, she tried to imagine the same and blushed. She had seen a few bonding rituals in her clan, but what Solas had described sounded different, more magical and rich, and she wondered if he had witnessed ancient elven marriages in the Fade, romantic scenes played out by the spirits.

Pressing a feather-light kiss on the tip of his nose, she tried to see him wearing white and golden robes, although she had no idea what the grooms of Arlathan really wore. It was an easy task, no matter how much Dorian complained about Solas’ “hobo tastes”.

Just thinking about him dressed like her husband made her flustered and she hid her face behind the sheets, her heart beating even faster when she smelled his scent on them.

She was the leader of the Inquisition, she had faced demons and men turned into monsters - and continued to do so almost every day -, but the simple thought of Solas was enough to make her knees wobbly and her head light, as if full of clouds.

She lifted the sheets to stare at him again and snorted; he wasn’t looking exactly _elegant_ or graceful like in the marriage fantasies she’d just had, but he was beautiful all the same. Even with saliva streaming down his mouth and the sign of the pillow imprinted on his cheek.

_“Can you see yourself sitting on my lap at night in front of the fire, reading and talking, a domestic bliss that has no equals?”_

Lavellan whimpered against that same pillow. Oh, she could see that, she absolutely can, and nothing made her happier! They were already a pretty domestic couple - they spent much time in the rotunda, reading on Solas’ couch and talking about his journeys in the Fade. They often retired in her quarters too, to simply relax after a hard day or eat together on the balconies. At night, when they were too tired to do something in bed, they slept in each other’s arms, furs and Solas’ magic keeping them warm, protected against Skyhold’s cold drafts.

But a _married_ life was more than that: it was choosing how to decorate their rooms, it was planning their days, taking care of their children. It was discovering the world and its mysteries with each other. It was leading the Inquisition and fixing Thedas together, it was facing the world like a single being and giving to that same world their greatest offering: their love in shape of children.

At least, that was what she thought and, yes, it was _cheesy_ , just like Varric had pointed out, but she didn’t care. She was a hopeless romantic, just like Cassandra, but that didn’t matter either.

And when she imagined him calling her ‘ _ara’asha_ ’, a flower crown on his head as he held her hands with that soft, sweet smile he always gave her, she whined again, heat flaring on her cheeks.

Turning slightly her head to watch him with one eye, Lavellan reached out for him and caressed his face a second time, fingertips touching his sharp ears, then moving to trace the scar on his forehead. She went lower until she touched his lips and he twitched, closed his mouth, and squeezed the tender flesh of her waist.

She kissed his nose again and sat up, gently moving his arm so that he wouldn’t wake up; she looked around, grateful for the fire crackling in the fireplace that offered light and warmth.

There were documents and letters neatly piled on her desk, probably Josephine’s doing. She sighed, knowing she had to read and reply to every single one of them.

Her stomach grumbled loudly and her eyes found immediately a tray covered with a cloth placed right on the top of the stairs. There was a note pinned to it and Lavellan hesitated for a second, her innate shyness preventing her from stepping out of bed naked even though nobody could see her. Wrapping the sheets around herself seemed like the most logical solution, but Solas’ legs were tangled in them - and Lavellan quickly averted her eyes from his barely covered butt -, so the only thing to do was grabbing the nearest piece of clothing and going to the tray.

She found Solas’ clean sweater that he had brought and never touched, as they had gone from the bathtub straight to the bed. Feeling a thrill right up her spine, she wore it; it was large and long enough to cover her - although a lot of skin was still showing - and it shielded her from the chilly night air that the fireplace couldn’t beat. She noticed with a fond smile how many times he had sewn it back together, the consumed elbows, and the loose threads that stuck out from the collar and, after sniffing it, she shook her head with a sigh.

“Oh, Solas!” she murmured incredulous. “And you call this ‘clean’?”

It smelled like him, but the hints of sweat and soil were stronger and for a moment she could have sworn she had smelled _wet dog_. Still, it was _Solas’_ , so she didn’t mind it at all, but he clearly needed more clothes or at least another simple set of clothing for when this one was drying after being washed.

Glancing at him with a smile, Lavellan got out of bed on her tip-toes, enjoying the pleasant soreness between her legs, a reminder of the beautiful hours she had just spent with him.

Crouching down, tightening the sweater around her like a comfortable, warm hug, she took the note attached on the tray. She recognized the handwriting; only one person in all Skyhold drew flowers and bunnies in the messages to her friends anyway.

_Inquisitor,_

_I hope you had a wonderful rest. I sent some food, in case you and Solas are feeling hungry. Don’t worry, I told the girl not to peek!_  
_During your absence, many nobles and dignitaries of Empress Celene’s court have sent missives and letters requesting your attention. I have reason to believe they are rather… special this time and I would like to discuss them with you once you are ready. You can find them on your desk._  
_Speaking of nobles, Leliana suggested a simple party to prepare for the Orlesian Ball. Nothing too fancy, but it will be useful to get used to the many rules of the Game we will have to follow at the Winter Palace. It could also be a relaxing experience before you meet the Warden mentioned by the Champion of Kirkwall… although I am not sure you consider being surrounded by Orlesian nobles and snobbish humans a vent for your stress._

_Anyway, don’t worry about this now! Please enjoy your evening and let me and Leliana take care of the rest for today._

_Josephine_

_P.S.: one of the waitresses of the Herald’s Rest had a baby! A healthy, beautiful boy. She would be honored to show him to you. Please go see her when you have a moment, it would make her so happy._

Lavellan smiled at the animals drawn on the paper, even though worry and the heavy pressure of responsibilities were already twisting her guts in knots. She wasn’t really looking forward to the meeting with that Warden friend of Hawke’s, although she was very curious about what they had to say.

The Ball at the Winter Palace was definitely scarier and Leliana’s idea of throwing a small party at Skyhold wasn’t so bad after all. Lavellan needed to know how to behave, what to say and do in front of the Orlesian nobles without causing a scandal. An alliance with the ruler of Orlais was a precious chance that the Inquisition - and all Thedas, considering the chaos she had seen in the corrupted future - couldn’t risk to waste… still, she could already imagine the whispered jokes and sly jabs the nobles would throw at her, even there at Skyhold, her home and territory.

Sighing, she looked under the cloth covering the tray: vegetables cooked in the human way, fruits, and even tiny colored cupcakes that looked very sugary. It was nothing hot that would have gotten cold quickly and Lavellan appreciated Josephine and the kitchen staff’s thoughtfulness.

“ _Vhenan_?”

She gasped in surprise and turned around; Solas was awake, rubbing his eyes and looking at her with a sleepy smile.

“What are you doing there, crouched down?”

Her body was covering the tray still on the ground, so she slightly moved to show it to him and said: “They brought us food!” She took it and stood up, showing fully herself to Solas, and she didn’t hear his sharp intake of breath.

“There is also a message from Josephine.” She got back into bed and only then she noticed the intense, _burning_ look Solas was giving her. She blushed and looked down, only now aware of the way her posterior was still visible, how the loincloth of the sweater was pressed into her legs, and how much skin she was actually showing.

She instinctively folded her legs and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to look the most casual she could, but she knew too well she looked the exact opposite.

“I… I didn’t want to take the sheets and wake you up, so I grabbed the closest thing and…” She cursed her shyness - Solas had seen her naked multiple times, there was no need to be so timid! And she was sure he didn’t mind she had taken his clothes. Still, she tried to joke to calm herself down.

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” she laughed nervously, putting a lock of hair behind her ear. “You are bigger than me and…”

“You…” Solas softly interrupted her, reaching out and cupping her cheek, staring at her with wide eyes full of wonder and love. “You look gorgeous.”

Lavellan scoffed, avoiding his eyes because she was sure she would just end up babbling and blushing like a child. She had already a goofy smile on her face, which was replaced by curiosity when Solas hummed and added: “Something is missing, though.”

She watched him take something from the corner of the bed where the rest of his clothes was and stayed perfectly still as he put his jawbone pendant around her neck.

“There. Perfect now.” he smiled and Lavellan slowly took the jawbone in her hands, admiring it like she had done days before in the Dalish camp.

“It’s heavy!” she exclaimed, weighing it on her hand, then the meaning of that gesture hit her like the punch of a giant and she finally was able to look at him, smiling brightly.

“It fits you.” Solas said, eyebrows raised, that gentle smile she loved so much still on his lips, and Lavellan looked down at the sweater and pendant again. Wearing Solas’ clothes made her heart race faster and filled her with warmth. It felt like a simple, natural thing, but also like a deeper bonding experience, something sweet that showed intimacy.

That was the word. It was _intimate_ , different from sex, but equally thrilling and satisfying and incredibly good. Did her friends who had bonded feel like this too? Did the married people in Thedas feel the same things she was feeling now, dressed in Solas’ sweater, the jawbone pressing like a comforting, hot stone against her chest and breasts?

Solas scooted closer and soon his arm was wrapped around her waist, his lips pressed on her hairline, and he murmured against her skin: “You should wear this more often.”

Lavellan giggled and hugged him, tucking her head under his chin.

“I’d love to.” she said softly, as he continued to kiss her hair. She smirked up at him. “But what would you wear, then?”

He snorted before leaning down to whisper, his grinning mouth a few inches from hers: “Furs to stay warm, of course. Lots and lots of furs.” He chuckled when she tried to steal a kiss and he pulled away, long fingers cradling her face as he added: “Or maybe I could stay naked? That would be a possible solution too.”

Lavellan’s eyes went wide and then they slowly moved downwards; the white sheets did nothing to hide Solas’ lower parts now and she quickly averted her gaze, focusing it on the wall behind the bed, cheeks on fire.

“Hm!”

That tiny sound escaped from her mouth was enough to make Solas burst into a deep, rich, and beautiful laugh. He pressed a loud, humid kiss on her lips, chuckling into her mouth, then uncovered the tray, saying with mirth and affection: “We should eat, _vhenan_. What would you like first?”

When she didn’t answer, he turned back to her and smirked seeing her expression: still hugging him, she was staring at the food without really seeing it.

“ _Vhenan_?” Solas repeated, squeezing her waist. His grin was smug and terribly amused when he whispered slyly in her ear: “Did I distract you?”

She blinked and pouted at him, although her flushed face and state of mild undress took away a big part of the scary factor.

“I was _thinking_.” she replied, smacking his chest. Then she raised her chin, a proud pose, despite the timid light in her eyes and the two red spots on her cheeks. “Definitely not about you standing naked in the rotunda, with paint on your body and light hitting you in the right places.”

“Ah.” Solas nodded, almost solemnly, the smirk still there, but his ears red. “And what would these ‘right places’ be?”

He gasped in surprise when Lavellan threw her arms around his neck and laughed, peppering his face with quick, little pecks, the angry façade completely gone: “Everything! Your lips, your nose, your butt!” She stopped to look at his face and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Did you know you have freckles on your nose? They are so cute! Oh, and wrinkles form near your mouth and eyes when you smile!” Lavellan observed every detail of his face with a big smile, mesmerized by it, and Solas opened and closed his mouth, unable to pronounce any word. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Well, I…”

“And your eyes! Your eyes are so beautiful!” She tilted his head to see them better thanks to the light coming from the fireplace. “They look blue now, but sometimes they are gray and sometimes they are both, so I look at them every day to see what color they are.” She stopped for a second, unsure whether to say the next thing or not, then she gathered enough courage and said timidly: “They were gray this morning, when we arrived at Skyhold.”

Solas’ blush was as bright and deep as hers. He stared at her for a long time, bewildered, before Lavellan started panicking.

“Oh! Is… is that creepy?” she pulled away, gripping her own hands and torturing her fingers with painful twists. “That’s creepy, isn’t it? It’s just…! I love watching you, because you are so… Wait, no, that’s even worse!” She groaned, hiding her face behind both hands. “Oh, Creators, I want to open a Rift right here and disappear forever into the Fade!”

“ _Vhenan_...”

“Pretend you didn’t hear that!” she pleaded, shaking her head. “Please, forget about this!” But when she moved her hands to look at him, she saw his smile and felt him tighten his firm grip around her waist.

“You bite your lips when you read.” Solas started, resting his forehead against hers, and as always his voice helped her relax and calm down. “You twist your fingers and talk fast when you are anxious, just like you did now, and you always use an elfroot perfume in the morning. You smell the bottle with your eyes closed before pouring it on your hand.” He laughed softly when Lavellan blinked in surprise and shock at him and he continued: “Your eyes change too. It depends on the kind of light and every time they are _stunning_. There is the sun in them, _vhenan_ , the sun and all the gold of Arlathan. But there is also the color of the leaves when they turn brown and the bright yellow of the flowers of the Hinterlands.”

He embraced her, resting his cheek on the top of her head, and moved his broad hands along her back in soothing caresses.

“Your love is the most beautiful thing I have ever received in my life, _ma sa’lath_ , and I don’t deserve it.”

“Solas…”

“I will _always_ appreciate it. Never fear.”

He nuzzled her neck, kissed it, and then cupped her face, his lips curled into a sad, tender smile; she got lost into his eyes, so similar to the sea in a stormy night.

Was that the right moment to pronounced that “I love you” she so wanted to say? It seemed like it, they were alone and the mood was perfect, she just had to open her mouth and let the words flow and then…

Her stomach grumbled, a loud, horrible sound that ruined everything, and Lavellan gasped, staring at her traitorous body like she couldn’t believe it had really done that to her.

Solas chuckled, the sadness gone from his eyes, and after kissing her he said: “Let’s eat, my heart. I must admit I am feeling rather hungry myself.”

They started with the vegetables and now that she felt reassured and content, still pressed against him with his arm around her, she was finally able to relax. Solas looked at ease, too, as he always did when he was in her company. When they were alone, he let go of his polite, distant mask to laugh with her and talk about things he never mentioned when others were around.

As they ate, commenting the _shemlen_ food and complimenting whoever had prepared the cupcakes, Lavellan felt the strong sensation of domesticity more than before. The dim, warm light suffusing the room, their shared meal, and the messy bed smelling of herbs, food, and sex helped her pretend the war was over, that the Inquisition wasn’t needed as much as now and she and Solas were married, bonded for life and spending another normal, lovely night together. Concentrating hard enough, she could imagine young, ringing giggles just outside the door below, childish voices calling-

She jumped when she felt Solas’ lips against her temple and she realized he had said something.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, forcing the fantasy to leave her mind for the moment. “I was… thinking again.”

“About me standing naked in the rotunda?” Solas joked, the smug smirk back on his lips, and he laughed when she lightly smacked his bare chest again.

“You are an insufferable _dork_.” she mumbled. “No, it was something more… innocent.”

Solas tilted his head, curious, and opened his mouth to ask more, but upon seeing her timid, dreamy smile and the way she was playing with her cupcake, he understood and discreetly changed topic:

“You said there was a message.”

“Oh!” Lavellan looked around, blinking to chase away the last lingering thoughts of little feet running around. “Yes, here it is.”

She retrieved the piece of paper with sticky fingers and gave it to him; as he began reading, she rested her head on his shoulder, munching her cupcake, and sighed.

“Looks like there will be a lot to do.” She looked up and, seeing Solas wasn’t eating anymore, she split the cupcake in half and brought a part of it near to his mouth. He took it without looking away from the message, grazing his teeth against her fingers on purpose and making her giggle.

“I am glad for the party, though! I need to learn how to deal with Orlesian nobility without glaring at them or wishing to hide in a hole for the rest of the day.” Lavellan continued, slowly nipping at the creamy inside of her own half of cupcake.

Solas hummed and folded the letter, a pensive look on his face. He looked at her desk and at the pile of papers arranged on it and Lavellan grinned at him, unaware of the pink icing adorning her face.

“We could start reading those missives, just to laugh at those boring nobles looking for an alliance with the Inquisition.”

“It is late, _vhenan_.” Solas stroked a finger down her chin, swiping the icing away. “The Orlesian nobles can wait.”

Lavellan gave him an odd look and a teasing smile.

“Are you suggesting to skip my duties as Inquisitor? My, Solas! I wasn’t expecting this from you!”

“Not skipping.” he corrected her, smiling in return and tapping her nose, smearing the pink icing on it. “Merely postponing it.”

“Mmh.” Lavellan gazed at her desk, brow furrowing, not because she wanted to work on the replies, but because reading pompous, exaggerated letters from snobbish _shemlen_ sounded like a funny activity to do together. She loved seeing Solas smile and laugh and any chance to see him like that was more than welcome. She knew he would enjoy to mock some arrogant Orlesian guy and critique his writing style without mercy. He already did that when he read the heavy tomes he requested to the University of Orlais.

So she - reluctantly - pulled away from Solas’ embrace and jumped out of bed, not noticing his mouth about to kiss her on the head.

“Just a quick peek!” she exclaimed rushing to the desk, forgetting about the sweater barely covering her butt and legs. She also missed the way Solas blinked, lips frozen midair, then stared at her the whole time, taking in every movement and her bright face as she collected some of the letters. But when she went back to bed with a large number of them in her hands, she saw his soft, longing gaze and became flustered.

She smiled shyly at him before crawling back on bed and pecking his lips. Solas’ arms immediately went around her waist and she was soon nestled against him again.

“Here!” she gave him one of the letters, one from a count with an unpronounceable name. “Let me know if he wants us to beat his rival in exchange for soldiers or find his lost son run away from home in search of adventure.”

“In that case, I will gladly inform you of all his hyperboles and outdated phrases.” Solas chuckled and Lavellan grinned when she saw the amused, almost predatory glint in his eyes, clear sign that he couldn’t wait to bash harshly the unfortunate human who had dared to write to her in obsequious and fake tones.

In the past, she had received honest, respectful missives that had helped establish beneficial relationships between the Inquisition and rich, noble families. More often than not, those missives came from the Free Marches or Ferelden, but she had read decent words from Orlesian people as well. The letters around her now, though, didn’t look too promising.

She took another one and frowned, confused; she slowly brought the yellowish envelope near her nose and sniffed it.

“ _Rose_?” she mumbled, before breaking the seal and taking out the page.

“Oh!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. The first lines were enough to cause her disgust. “This baron managed to offend my elven origins in less than five words already.”

Solas didn’t answer and she turned to him, giggling because the letter was becoming atrocious; as soon as she saw his face, though, she gasped and rested a hand on his arm.

“Solas…?”

He was pale, his mouth set in a tight, firm line; his grip on the page was so strong that the paper was crumpled under his fingers and his hands were slightly shaking.

Then he seemed to regain his composure and cleared his throat, handing her the page without meeting her eyes.

“It’s a marriage proposal.”

Lavellan gaped at him, then at the letter.

_No, no, no!_

“This…!” she snatched the paper out of his hand and shook her head, reading fast the words in front of her, panic filling every part of her. The count was indeed offering his hand to her, using sweet, poetic endearments, complimenting her beauty that he had “been so lucky to lay eyes upon in Val Royeaux”, hoping to create a lasting alliance between his powerful family and the Inquisition to help Orlais and all Thedas find peace again. Lavellan tried to speak, to come up with something to say, to express the disgust, fear, and rage boiling inside her, but the only sound that came out of her mouth was a pitiful croak.

“I think it would be correct to assume that these other letters contain a similar message.” Solas said softly, taking the rose-scented letter she was reading before. “… As I thought. This baron uses a way less kind language, but his intentions are clear.”

“No!” Lavellan finally managed to shout. She took the other missives scattered around and practically tore the envelopes open, quickly reading the pages inside. Every single one of them was the same: marriage proposals from all around Thedas, some formal and discreet, others straightforward and bold. Each letter made her feel worse, until she was shaking and breathing heavily.

Hawen was right. The several successes of the Inquisition and her growing fame had attracted much attention and _that_ kind of attention was the last one she wanted to receive. She felt little and lost, because she had no idea how to reply to such _horrible_ requests without offending anyone and preventing the Inquisition from gaining precious allies; she felt furious, because she couldn’t believe those strangers - those _shemlen_ \- were actually asking her to marry one of them, without any respect for her dignity, desires, life. How could the human world be so cold, cynical, devoid of feelings?

No, not just the human world, she realized. She had seen the first signs of that change in Hawen’s camp. Her people were also ready to forget about their customs and rules to gain more power and influence using her status, expecting her to accept to help them. She knew gifts and letters from Dalish clans would arrive soon, reminding her of her elven nature, of her origins and responsibilities towards the People.

But above all she felt _sad_ , because she could see Solas’ sadness and self-doubt coming back in full force, his own rage and annoyance directed at those nobles, but also his self-awareness and lack of confidence.

“I can’t believe this!” she said, voice loud and cracking, when all the letters were laying open on the bed, all asking for her hand in marriage. “This is ridiculous! I…! I am so sorry, Solas!”

“Why?” He frowned, worried by her sudden panic. “ _Vhenan_ , you do not have to apologize. It is not…”

“Yes, I do!” she interrupted him, her tone too high, almost a shrill. Her hands were shaking when she brought them to her mouth. “I am so sorry you had to read that, I shouldn’t have insisted and…” She gasped, a sudden idea in mind, then scrambled out of bed.

“I need to talk with Josephine! She will know how to deal with this mess!”

Solas observed her with increasing anxiety, a foot already on the ground, ready to leave the bed to go to her.

“ _Vhenan_ …”

Lavellan didn’t hear him and with one swift move she took off the sweater and the jawbone, carefully placed them back on the mattress, and looked for her clean Skyhold outfit, all the while speaking fast, without catching her breath: “I will refuse them, I will refuse them all! They can’t send me those… those _things_ and expect me to answer all kind and understanding, it’s disgusting and…”

“My heart, please, calm down.” Solas was standing up, now, and he extended a hand to grab hers.

“I don’t want them! Dread Wolf take them, I don’t want them!” Lavellan shouted, eyes swelling with tears, so angry and scared that she didn’t even notice they were completely naked. She looked into Solas’ eyes, sight blurred, and reached out, taking his hands.

“I will write to them, Solas, I will tell them their messages are not appreciated and never will! I won’t allow this to happen again!”

“ _Vhenan_ , I understand you are scandalized and even unsettled by their audacity, but please, do not worry about me.” Solas tried to get free from her grasp to cup her head, but hers was an iron grip and he couldn’t move.

“No, it was offensive and-”

“It was offensive to _you_. My jealousy is a foolish thing compared to your hurt feelings.” he corrected her, but Lavellan shook her head, tears running free down her cheeks.

“They also hurt yours! They shouldn’t have assumed that I wasn’t together with someone else, that I was interested in something like this!”

“The world does not work that way, my heart.” he murmured and he was able to free his hands and dry the tears on her face. “And you are the leader of the Inquisition now. There will always be assumptions about you and this organization, because both the powerful and the weak need those to feel safe and ensure they will still have a place in the world at the end of this war.”

He placed soft, small kisses on her wet cheeks, under and above her eyes, on her nose and finally on her mouth, until Lavellan sobbed and rested her forehead against his chest.

“I don’t want them.” she said, her voice a sorrowful whisper.

“I know.” Solas hugged her, a hand in her hair, the other rubbing soothingly her back.

“I don’t want to marry them.”

“I know, my light. You will tell them so.”

“I want to marry you.” Lavellan added, a timid, sad murmur, and Solas held her tighter, quiet. When she started crying, he pressed his face into her hair and kissed it while slowly lulling her; she cried harder, wetting his chest, but Solas didn’t mind and kept hugging her, mouth kissing her hair, until she calmed down.

“ _Vhenan_ …” he called when her sobs subsided. “Come. Let’s go back to bed.”

“But the letters…!”

“They can wait.” his tone was stern, but gentle at the same time and he took her by hand, leading her back to bed. He made her rest down while he took care of the tray and the papers still on sheets. He placed the first on the table near the couch; the missives ended up on the ground, carelessly swept off the mattress with a wide move of his arm.

Finally, he joined Lavellan in bed; she had followed him with her eyes the entire time, a bashful look on her face because he was _naked_ and now she was perfectly aware of it, yet she hadn’t been able to avoid staring at him.

“ _Ma sa’lath_.” he said with a smile, taking her into his arms. He caressed her face, drying the last traces of tears, and kissed her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

She nodded and tucked her head where his neck and jaw met because she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“I am sorry.” she said, voice muffled against his skin. “That wasn’t a good marriage proposal.”

“I loved it.” Solas tried to move her to look at her, but she refused to budge and in the end he chuckled, going back to hug her tightly. “It was so much better than those ridiculous letters. It was honest and sweet and I thank you for it.”

Lavellan whined, still hiding her face, and felt the strong urge to get up and throw the missives in the fire. It was like they had ruined their evening and the mere idea of messages from _suitors_ laying around while she and Solas were spending time together offended and disgusted her; she also considered it disrespectful towards him and couldn’t wait to take all those letters out of her - _their_ \- rooms.

“Forgive me.” Solas said suddenly and she jumped back, shocked.

“For what? You did nothing wrong!” she exclaimed, but he didn’t answer right away, hurrying to kiss her now that he could see her.

“I should have been the one to propose.” he said ruefully and she recognized that strong, vibrant sadness that often appeared in his eyes. He looked resigned, wistful, and guilty all at once and when he brought her hand to his lips to kiss each knuckle, she felt a painful tug in her heart, because he looked so, _so sorry_.

“Solas…” she started, but he suddenly propped himself on an elbow and hovered over her, his gaze intense, a fire burning in his blue and gray irises.

“My heart.” he gasped, searching for something on her face, maybe a prompt to go on, and Lavellan gave it to him, smiling and listening intently. He opened his mouth, then closed it, but never broke eye contact.

“I…” he tried again. “I…” He sighed and closed his eyes, a deep line on his forehead; he looked back at Lavellan and she kissed his cleft chin to reassure him that everything was fine and she was there with him.

“It’s alright.” she said gently, smiling up at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world. “You don’t have to say it now if you don’t want to.”

Solas shook his head, eyes wide and frantic, and brushed back her hair, resting his hand on her face.

“It is not that!” he said, sounding terribly worried and _scared_. “My love, it is not that, I…” He snarled, furious at his own incapability of letting the words out, of telling her what slept in his heart, that truth eating him from the inside out since their first kiss, no, even before that. He pleaded her with his eyes to give him enough strength to continue, to insist, because if she insisted, then…

“Don’t worry.” she laughed softly, the sound like a balm for the wound he had on his soul, a scorching mark so similar to the one on her hand. “Whatever it is, I will wait. You can tell me when you are ready.”

Solas hesitated one last second, but it was enough for the moment - the _right_ moment - to flee. Lavellan smiled at him, sweet and awed, and cuddled against him, and he gave up, wrapping his arms around her and closing his eyes.

“Was it a serious thing?” she asked in a small, worried voice; Solas pressed his face against her hair, shaking his head.

“No. No, it was… it was nothing. Do not think about it.”

“You know I am always here for you, don’t you?” Lavellan moved to look at him again, studying his face, caressing it with extreme care, and Solas leaned into her touch, sighing with relief and sorrow mixed together.

“I know, _vhenan_. Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Lavellan reassured him and she smiled again, making his heart melt. “But if _you_ are upset and want to talk about it with me, just tell me, alright? I will listen to anything you have to tell me.” She giggled, hiding her face against his chest, then she kissed it when she calmed down.

“I am not sure I will understand everything if you want to talk about the Fade and what happens in it, but I will do my best.” She rose her head and the look on his face made her blush, because he was staring at her like she was perfection itself. He took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply, biting her plump lips, and when he broke the kiss he hugged her tightly again.

“Thank you.” he said, his voice cracking a little, just a bit, but Lavellan heard it and she wished for that sadness festering in him to go away, she wished it with all her heart. He peppered her neck and face with kisses before stopping to look at her and said, his lips finally curling upwards: “You are a wonderful person, _ma sa’lath_ , and I am so grateful to have you. Do not worry about this, it was just the exaggeration of an old fool who chose the wrong time to speak.” He brought her hand to his chest and squeezed it. “As for that _other_ matter… you already know what I want. I told you that night in the Dalish camp. However…” he chuckled and even in the now dim light - the fire was slowly going out in the fireplace - Lavellan was able to see the deep shade of red on his freckled cheeks.

“… If everything goes well, my greatest joy would be repeating you those things in a better, more formal manner.” he sighed, a sound filled with both longing and pain. “That is my desire.”

Lavellan stroked his cheek soothingly, eyes sparkling, cheeks red, and Solas kissed her one last time before resting down better and prepare to finally enter the Fade with her.

“We should rest now. Tomorrow is going to be a hectic day, I am sure. Leliana will want to discuss about the party and you need to work with Josephine on those replies.”

“Creators, I can’t wait.” Lavellan almost snarled, snuggling into his arms, but just when he started nuzzling her face, she moved and beamed up at him.

“Can I wear your sweater and jawbone again?”

Solas blinked, then snorted and nodded, letting his arms slide away from her without hurry.

“Of course.”

When she was cuddling against him again, dressed in his sweater, the jawbone hanging from her neck, he tangled their legs together under the sheets and asked with amusement: “Do you like my clothes so much, _vhenan_?”

“Your sweater is nice and warm.” she murmured with a sleepy smile, eyes already closed. “And the jawbone is heavy, but comforting.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. It makes me feel… grounded. Protected.”

Then she whined softly, rubbing her nose on his chest, and Solas rested his cheek on hers, covering her with his body.

“Solas…” she called and he pressed his lips on her warm skin.

“Yes?”

“Will you visit me in the Fade?”

Another kiss, then: “Of course, _vhenan_. Always.”

He heard her breathing become heavier, even, and before following her into dreams, he watched her for a long time, his heart torn between duty, fear, and strong, overwhelming hope.

 

\- - -

 

Lavellan got up rather early, knowing her advisors were already at work, preparing all the necessary to start her day as the Inquisitor.

Solas was still snoring in bed, but he stirred when he heard her take out her clothes and put his back on the bed. By the time she was dressed, he was sitting up, looking at her with bleary, swollen eyes.

“ _Emma lath_.” he grunted and Lavellan giggled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Go back to sleep!” she said, proceeding to fix her hair as best as she could. She soon gave up, thinking the guests at Skyhold luckily didn’t care for the Inquisitor’s bedhair that much, and started to gather all the letters still on the grounds in her arms.

Solas grunted again, a little, hoarse sound of confusion, and looked at the sky visible from the closed windows.

“Why are you up so early?” he slurred, now sounding surprised. Then he frowned and the smallest of _pouts_ appeared on his face. “Come back to bed.”

 _And stay with me_. Those words lingered in the air, unspoken, and Lavellan understood, blushing and shaking her head at him with a smile.

“I want to reply to these messages as soon as possible. I am sure Josephine is already in her office, so if I go to her now, I will be done before midday.”

“What about breakfast?” Solas’ frown was so deep, now, that she could count the wrinkles on his forehead.

They ate breakfast together every morning, usually in bed, although they didn’t mind eating with all the others in the main hall, starting the day with the amusing sight of Dorian’s mussed mustache, Varric’s dry and sleepy jokes, Bull’s roaring laughter and Cole’s sweet “good morning!”.

In any case, she had never missed a meal with Solas, not even when he preferred not to eat and simply drank a cup of his meticulously prepared tea, and it felt bad, not _right_ , to leave him alone like that. But she really wanted to forget about those terrible letters and they had the whole day to spend together…

“We can meet at lunch.” she said softly, going back to the bed, and Solas’ hand immediately reached out, fast as lightning, to grab hers and keep her there. She stroked his long, calloused fingers, smiling sweetly, and he sighed.

“Promise me that you will eat something. I do not want you to spend the whole morning writing replies to those ridiculous letters. Take care of them quickly and forget about their existence completely.”

“I promise.” She gave him another kiss, this time on the head, and repeated: “Go back to sleep!”

Solas made a whining, disappointed sound and reluctantly let her hand go. He watched her go down the stairs, waving at him, then when he heard the door close he went back under the sheets, hugging her pillow and inhaling her scent on it.

 

\- - -

 

The hall was empty, but the long tables had already been prepared for the guests and inhabitants of Skyhold. Lavellan could hear the servants working in the background and before reaching Josephine’s office, she also spotted some of the maids sweeping the floor. They bowed at her and Lavellan smiled, wishing them a good morning.

It was still unsettling to be served like that, to see people ready to give her anything she asked for, to know her rooms - her overwhelmingly _spacious_ rooms - were cleaned every day, to hear “Your Worship” and see bowed heads every time she walked through the fortress. The fact that all those people were paid and had been actually _hired_ to do their job was a relief, but she still couldn’t shake the odd feeling of guilt off when she saw servants and recruits taking care of her needs.

Trying to blink away the sleep still in her eyes, still feeling bad for Solas sleeping all alone in her quarters, she slowly opened the door to Josephine’s office, peeking in. As she expected, the ambassador was already at her desk, reading some documents and sipping a steaming cup of hot chocolate. The Antivan lady raised her head, alerted by the noise of the door, and blinked in surprise.

“Inquisitor!” she exclaimed, getting up to greet her with a smile. “Are you already up?” Then she saw the letters in her arms and groaned.

“Oh, Maker, you already read them! I was hoping to do that together!” She raised her eyebrows, a worried expression on her face, and asked with a small voice: “Did they… offend you in any way?”

“Actually, _yes_.” Lavellan replied, dropping all the missives on the ambassador’s desk, her hands shaking just like the night before. “They are the most disgusting, stupid, _appalling_ thing I have ever seen in my life! Do these nobles really think I am going to marry one of them just because they ask it nicely?” She shivered, recalling what was written on some of those pages. “Or rudely, for that matter.”

Josephine widened her eyes. “I am so sorry, Inquisitor, I shouldn’t have left them on your desk! I had a feeling they could be _that_ kind of letter, but…” She shook her hand and took one of the envelopes, opening it and reading what was inside. She groaned again, a hand on her cheek.

“Maker’s breath, I can’t believe he actually wrote this!”

“They are horrible, Josephine!” Lavellan’s voice had a pained, high-pitched edge to it and her eyes were filled with anxiety. “I am not good at this! I can slay demons, close Rifts, talk with people about the many problems of Thedas and try to fix them, Creators, I can even face a corrupted future of our world, but _this_?” She stared at the letters like they were red lyrium. “I can’t deal with this! They ask for something _private_ , for something so important that I…”

“I understand.” Josephine rested a hand on her arm, warm and reassuring. “I know that receiving such messages can be quite shocking, especially… especially in your case.” She looked curious, but also so much worried, when she asked: “Things work differently in Dalish clans, don’t they?”

“Technically.” Lavellan muttered, staring down at the floor. “But the clan in the Exalted Plains already tried to… to _offer_ me someone. I think I will receive more proposals in the future and not just from humans, Josephine.”

“Maker.” the ambassador looked at the colored, perfumed papers on her desk, lost in her thoughts, then blinked and turned to Lavellan with a serious face.

“I admit I am not surprised. I was expecting this, although not so soon and not in such a… _wild_ way. The Inquisition grows stronger every day that passes, your name is pronounced with respect and awe now, and the fact that we are officially invited to the Ball at Halamshiral caused many nobles to focus their whole attention on you, Inquisitor. They want to create new ties, to enter into the Empress’ court through you and your influence. A marriage between you and a noble in a time like this would undoubtely change many things in the ranks of the Orlesian society.”

Lavellan stared at her with something akin to horror.

“So if everything goes well at the Ball, more people will ask for my hand?” When Josephine answered with a sympathetic look, she clenched her jaw and forced herself to think about happy things, because the last thing she wanted was to cry again for something like that, no matter how much it frightened and outraged her.

“Unfortunately that’s how things go in the political world, your Worship. The more power one gains, the more other people try to get it for themselves, using all kinds of ways possible. Assassination, kidnapping, corruption… and marriage.” Josephine said, using all her tact, but noticing Lavellan’s distress, she gasped and lead her to the chair next to the fireplace.

“I am sorry!” she exclaimed as Lavellan sat down with a grim, dark face. “Don’t worry, Inquisitor, I will take care of it! I will write the _coldest_ replies imaginable and they won’t bother you anymore, I promise!”

“No!” Lavellan’s head snapped up. “I want to write them back! This is something _I_ have to do.” She got up and continued, eyes sparkling with determination: “Teach me how! I have no idea how to reply to something like that without making a mess and we need all the support possible, but…”

She blushed and continued, her tone more incensed than before: “But I also want to make them feel ashamed of themselves and jab at their stupid ego. I… I want to humiliate them with my words, just like they humiliated me and Solas. They thought that what they did was flattering; I will show them it’s the right opposite, that I didn’t appreciate it at all.” She looked down at her feet again, fury and sadness building inside her. “I want to do this for Solas too.”

A fiery light appeared in Josephine’s eyes and her grin was ferocious. She straightened her back, put her hands on her hips, and exclaimed with all the confidence in the world: “Trust me, Inquisitor! We will write the cruelest answers ever put down on paper!”

She dragged the chair near her desk and motioned Lavellan to sit down again.

“Come on, come on! We have much to do! We will read every letter, every single line, and answer accordingly. I will teach you how to sound polite, but also venomous and _livid_.” Josephine suddenly looked like a child who had just entered the shop of a dollmaker, her face bright with anticipation. She was really born to do that, Lavellan mused, feeling already better.

“I know all these nobles, I even talked with many of them in the past, so I know where to hit them. They will recognize the style of the Game and that will silence them. We will make sure to keep them as allies, though, using the right words and reminding them who is in power.”

Josephine rearranged all the letters in a neat pile, like she had done on Lavellan’s desk, and took the first one, the rose-scented missive from the rude baron. She grinned again and she reminded Lavellan of a sly fox she had seen in one of her hunting trips with her clan.

“Once they will read what we - _you_ \- have to say, they won’t bother you with stupid proposals anymore. Believe me.” Then the grin disappear and Josephine looked like her usual, gentle self again. “Although, as you said, many others will come in the future. We won’t be able to deal with those until they arrive on your desk, Inquisitor.”

“It’s alright. I know what to expect now.” Lavellan said, hands clasped on her lap. “And I will personally deal with any Dalish clan that wants to bond me with one of their men. That will be easier. I know how to react and what to say in that case.”

“Good.” Josephine’s grin returned and she took a clean page and passed it to Lavellan, along with her quill and ink.

“Let us begin with this baron! As you can see, he starts by addressing you with…”

 

They spent the whole morning in the study, laughing at pathetic poems and words of love, cursing under their breath at vulgar sentences and hinted wishes of pleasure. Lavellan blushed and hid her face behind her hands multiple times, unable to look at Josephine when she read the terrible things those nobles had come up with. She was so embarrassed she even forgot to ask for some food.

Soon Skyhold began to awaken; the conversations and laughter of the guests and merchants echoed in the main hall, scouts visited the office to deliver more messages - and Lavellan stared with horror at any new letter, fearing it was a new marriage proposal until Josephine reassured her it was not.

They talked amicably, taking little breaks when Lavellan’s embarrassment was too strong or a line from a noble sparked a conversation between them.

“Did Solas read these?” the ambassador asked at some point, holding with distaste one of the letters they had just finished writing a reply for. It was the one Lavellan hated the most, as it mentioned the possibility of _children_ , despite her “savage origins and elven blood”.

“Some of them.” Lavellan sighed, remembering the look on his face. “He was… upset.”

“I can imagine.” Josephine placed the letter and its respective answer on another pile. They had been working for hours, now, and just a few others remained, much to Lavellan’s relief. She smiled and played distractedly with the feather of the quill, face flushed, and added:

“He said he would like to propose to me in a formal way, someday. He already did in the Exalted Plains, but we were sleeping in the Dalish camp and we were not alone, so…”

A gasp from Josephine made her look up; the Antivan woman was beaming at her, hands on her cheeks, a smile so wide it was splitting her face in half.

“He… he _proposed_ to you??”

Lavellan giggled, bowing her head so her hair could hide her face.

“Sort of.” she said timidly. “He said it’s too early to talk about this now, especially with so much danger around us and the future being uncertain, but…” She giggled again and Josephine stood up, squealing in delight and bouncing on the spot.

“Oh, Maker! Oh, goodness! This… this is _wonderful_!”

The ambassador ran around the desk and hugged Lavellan tightly, continuing to bounce. Now she reminded her of a rabbit, an excited, squealing rabbit dressed in silk.

“Inquisitor, I am so, so happy for you! _That_ is the marriage proposal you deserve! Not this rubbish garbage!” Josephine gasped, eyes wide like the moon, and asked: “Oh! Oh! What about children? Did he mention them? And… and…”

“He did.” Josephine’s excitement was contagious and Lavellan started laughing when the ambassador yelled in triumph at the top of her lungs.

“I knew it! _Everyone_ knew it! The looks he gives you! The looks you give him! The way you smile at each other! It was undeniable!” Josephine clasped her hands in front of her face, breathing heavily, eyes sparkling like her dress.

“Please, Inquisitor! When the time comes, could I be the one to take care of everything? Unless you want to do only an elven ceremony. In that case, don’t worry about me, _but_ if you want to throw a party here too, please, let me prepare everything for you!”

“I think we should rather focus on the party Leliana wants to throw before the Ball, for now.” Lavellan laughed, then patted Josephine’s arm and added: “Thank you. I will definitely keep your offer in mind, when… when the time will come.”

They both burst into giggles and Lavellan forgot all the pain and shame the letters have caused her to feel, her mind and soul now at peace, filled with hope and light. She almost wanted to go find Corypheus, wherever that monster was, and beat him to a pulp. She felt strong enough to do that, to face a horde of dragons, to move a mountain, and when she thought of Solas probably waiting for her to eat lunch together, her heart skipped another beat.

“Oh!” Josephine exclaimed once they were calm. “Speaking of children, there is a new arrival in the fortress, Inquisitor. I believe I mentioned it in my message.”

Lavellan nodded, remembering what the other woman was referring to.

“One of the waitress of the tavern had a baby, right? I’d like to see him.”

“Come then! We definitely need a break.”

When they got out of the office, though, they stopped, surprised to see a small crowd of people gathered near the entrance.

“What is all this commotion…?” Josephine muttered, proceeding ahead, followed by Lavellan whose attention was soon caught by Dorian waving at her.

“Here you are!” he said walking over to her; he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her playfully. “Why didn’t you come to say hello yesterday? I heard you were back and yet I received no visit from you!”

“Sorry, Dorian.” she wrapped her arm around her waist and poked his side, making him snort. “I was kind of busy.”

“With our bald apostate, I bet.” the Altus wiggled his eyebrows and Lavellan pulled free from the hug with a scoff and a badly hidden smile.

“What’s happening over there, anyway?” she nodded at the many people laughing and gasping over something.

“Sure, change topic. It’s not like your best friend want to know all the sordid details about your relationship with the egg.”

“Dorian!” Lavellan smacked his arm, glaring at him indignantly, but he just snickered, not even trying to dodge her hand. “Don’t you dare call him like that!”

“I am sorry! I am sorry, that was uncalled for.” he collected himself and cleared his throat, before adding with the most innocent of voices: “But you have to admit his head is rather… round. “

He howled with laughter when Lavellan’s cheeks became red and the palm of her hand hit his bare arm with a loud ‘smack’ again.

“Stop it!”

“Inquisitor!”

Josephine came back with a wide smile and pointed at the crowd now aware of Lavellan’s presence.

“The baby! He is right there. The mother heard you were back and brought him to you.”

Lavellan decided to ignore Dorian’s comment for the moment - although she shot another glare at him - and followed Josephine to the center of the circle of people surrounding a young woman; she had seen her at the Herald’s Rest, bringing food and ale to the weary customers and travelers, but she looked like a completely different person now. She looked more mature, there was something in her that nobody else in the hall seemed to have, and Lavellan felt warm, as if she had been invested by a great light just by standing in the presence of that mother and her newborn son.

“Inquisitor.” the woman greeted her, bowing her head. The bundle in her arms gurgled and Lavellan’s eyes snapped to it, her face showing all her awe, curiosity, and longing.

“Isn’t he beautiful? Please, hold him if you’d like!”

Lavellan gaped at her and even if her hands were twitching and her heart was beating fast and hard against her chest, she babbled: “W-Wait! I don’t know how-”

“Here!”

The woman put the baby into her arms and showed her how to keep his neck up without causing him discomfort; Lavellan held her breath the whole time, a pleasant shiver running down her back when she saw the little one and he cooed at her. She couldn’t stop smiling and she was sure her eyes were glossy, even though she didn’t know _why_.

“You are a natural, Inquisitor.” the mother grinned and that single comment made Lavellan’s heart explode into millions of pieces, which radiated from her chest to her whole body, like hot shards illuminating every fiber of her being, reflecting the light of the creature in her arms into her very soul.

The baby mewled and she couldn’t move her eyes from him, not even when Dorian, now standing next to her, said with an amused scoff: “Look at the little beast, how it flails.”

Then another voice, familiar, soothing, belonging to someone awed just like her, murmured:

“He is warm, so simple and innocent. Pure and light like the clouds in the sky, filled with life like a garden, colors ready to grow in him.” Cole, who had been there the whole time, raised his head to stare at her, his smile sweeter than ever. “You are happy. There is love for him inside you even though he is not your son. You wish him all the good in the world and imagine what your own child will be like.”

He grinned, peering down at the newborn from under his hat, a finger touching the soft flesh of his cheek with the greatest delicateness Lavellan had ever seen, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling tears prickle her eyes.

_“And we would raise them and love them and you would be so, so beautiful, glowing in motherhood, with flower crowns on your head and all Thedas kneeling for you, ma sa’lath, ma av’in.”_

She took in a deep breath and images of Solas kissing their children on the forehead and smooching her face while they played near them filled her mind, flooding it like warm, healing water. She tried to speak, but her voice broke, so she cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly at the mother who was waiting.

“He is perfect.”

The woman beamed at her and Lavellan went back to the baby, touching his chin with one fingertip, eyes clouded with tears, her smile broad and bright.

“Hello, _da’adahl._ Welcome to Skyhold.”

She didn’t see Solas standing near the open door that led to the rotunda, partially hidden in the shadows. He watched her lull the baby with a tender, longing gaze, the grip on the book he has holding painfully strong, his fingers digging like claws into the leather cover.

When Cole approached him, quiet like the darkness surrounding them, he closed his eyes.

“She would say yes.” the spirit murmured, his voice a soft, comforting sound. “If you told her, she would understand. She would still say yes. She would always say yes, no matter what.”

“Cole, please.”

“You want it.” the boy insisted. “You desire it more than anything else. You want to make her your queen, to lose yourself into her, to shroud her in your love for all eternity and roam the world together, forever bonded to each other.”

Solas tilted his head down, his free hand closed into a fist. He let out a shaky breath, but Cole continued: “You want to kiss her swollen belly and hold your firstborn. You want to play with your little boy and braid your little girl’s hair. You already imagined them, you already gave them faces.” The spirit smiled, the same awed smile he had given to the baby, and said: “They would be so beautiful.”

Solas’ shoulders started to shake and he retreated further into the shadows, ready to bolt into the rotunda and stay there, far from that crowd, far from that sight, for the entire day.

Before he could do so, though, Cole grabbed his sleeve and said, confused: “You want it. She wants it. She would understand and accept you, accept the mistakes, accept the Wolf. Why don’t you tell her?” He frowned. “You tried, last night.”

“Cole, _please_ …”

“The words are here, on my tongue, I just have to open my mouth and she will know. The truth burns and consumes me, I want to tell her, she deserves that. But what if she hates me? What if she refuses me? What if she wants to help? She would be in danger, she could be killed. Something worse than loneliness, worse than failure, worse than my own death, _vhenan_ , _vhenan_ , I cannot live without you!”

Solas snatched his hand away and passed through the archway, slamming the door behind himself; he crossed the room with wide, long strides and threw the book on his desk with a snarl, before slouching down in his chair and covering his glossy eyes with a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting super long, but I cannot stop. ;_; I thought that receiving letters from rude humans asking for marriage would be quite shocking for Lavellan, at least for mine. It has been confirmed that Cole knew who Solas was since from the start, so I wanted him to try to convince Solas to talk to Lavellan. He will continue to do so in the next chapters too :P 
> 
> The next part will focus on the preparations for the party and Solas and Lavellan's respective difficulties. The companions will have a bigger role too. As always, I used FenxShiral's Project for some of the elven words. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kind comments, they mean a lot! I hope you will enjoy this chapter too and please forgive me for any typos ;v;


	4. Chapter 4

Solas stayed in the rotunda for the entire morning, bended over books even though he could barely concentrate on them.

He heard the people beyond the door slowly go back to their business; some, like Dorian, went to the library above his study, others passed through the room to head to the bastions and courtyard outside.

He paid mind to no one, pretending to be deeply immersed in the dusty tomes laying on his desk, his mind showing him the same image every few minutes: Lavellan with a baby - _an elven baby, with her hair and his eyes_ \- mewling in her arms.

Cole’s words haunted him and the jawbone around his neck that Lavellan had called heavy, truly felt like a rock, an unbearable boulder that slowly dragged him down into a cold, dark pit, a reminder of who he was and what he had done. He absentmindedly traced the teeth with his fingers, imagining a little girl - _with braided, light brown hair and her same eyes_ \- playing with it as he held her against his chest. For a moment, he could almost feel her weight along with the one of the pendant.

He whined softly, rubbing his forehead as if to erase those thoughts. He couldn’t go on like this. He couldn’t keep lying to Lavellan and himself, torn between fantasies and selfish desires and his duty, his supreme mission.

A servant came to ask if he wanted something to eat for lunch and interrupted his grim thoughts.

He had eaten breakfast in Lavellan’s room, preferring to finish the leftovers from the evening before rather than consume breakfast in the hall without her, so he wasn’t hungry enough to order a big meal.

“Only tea, prepared according to the instructions I gave the cooks.”

The servant bowed and made to leave, when Solas called him back, a sudden thought - and doubt - in his mind.

“Wait! Please bring some food for the Inquisitor. She will eat here later.”

The other man blinked, then bowed again to hide his smile (which Solas saw the same) and left with an “of course, Master Solas”.

The elf sighed, resting his chin on his hand while looking down at the pages and complicated notes on the desk. He knew Lavellan had probably eaten nothing that morning; she tended to focus entirely on her work, forgetting about her needs, when matters were serious and she wanted to find solutions as soon as possible.

Moreover those _wretched_ letters had upset her greatly. There was no way she had actually stopped to eat, not when there were so many she had to reply to.

He remembered the way she had eaten the hearth cake in the Dalish camp and finished it during their trip back to Skyhold; despite the faint flavor left, she had munched it with the biggest smile and even offered a piece of it to the elven apprentice, apologizing for the taste that did not live up to its name.

Solas smiled despite the crippling anxiety and worry torturing him. The simple thought of Lavellan managed to soothe much of his sorrow and once again he felt he didn’t deserve her at all.

Letting out another sigh, he adjusted himself on the chair and tried to read at least one chapter, only to be interrupted by a loud voice that made him grimace.

“Solas, my friend!”

He turned to the man who had just come down the stairs and was now standing near the couch, a grin on his face and some rich, expensive clothes folded on his arm.

“Dorian.” Solas greeted back, keeping his tone polite, but distant. He really didn’t have the strength to have a conversation with the Altus right now. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I have all I need right here.” the human patted the dark blue shirt he was holding with a touched, fond smile, like it was a cute pet that needed all his love. “Pure silk straight from Antiva. Lady Josephine was so kind to order and have it tailored just for me.”

“Good for you.” Solas barely glanced at the clothes, turning back to his books and hoping the message was clear enough. Apparently it was not - either that or Dorian really wanted to talk with him at all costs - because the Altus walked over to his desk and peered over it.

“Maker.” he scoffed. “I do enjoy a heavy reading once in a while, but this stuff could put to sleep even the most dedicated Chantry scholar. Is that why you are reading it?”

“A Chantry scholar would refuse to even touch these books.” Solas coldly replied, before scowling up at the human and repeating: “Do you need something?”

This time he had not hidden the slight annoyance in his voice and Dorian shrugged, curling his mustache with his free hand.

“I was just wondering what you are going to wear for the party. It’s the first time we throw one, after all. It’s a special occasion.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, as if confused by the question.

“I will wear what I always wear. I see no need to change my clothes, not when the party will be held here, in the Inquisitor’s fortress.”

Dorian spluttered and let his mustache go before he pulled it too much due to the shock. He stared at Solas, mouth hanging open, _offense_ written all over his face as if the elf had mocked him.

“You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea!” he babbled, too stunned to form coherent words. “That’s… the nobles and the rich guests and… Oh for…!”

“Breathe, Dorian. Perhaps some air will help you think better.” Solas interrupted him with nonchalance, completely unfazed by the human’s indignant look.

Dorian closed his mouth, took in a deep breath through his nose, and sighed deeply.

“Alright.” he started again, now more collected, but with shaking lips. “I understand you have your reasons - you don’t want to give satisfaction to boring, rude Orlesian nobles, you have your own _particular_ tastes, and you have probably never set foot into a party like this. I respect that.”

He ignored Solas’ heated glare and continued before he could cut him off again: “But the Inquisition must make a good impression before the Ball at the Winter Palace! We can’t go around dressed like hobos-” and now Solas’ dark expression almost made him stop, but he bravely kept going: “-and make the Inquisitor feel ashamed of her own friends!”

“The guests will ignore an elven apostate walking among them, either because they could not care less about me or simply to forget about my existence.” Solas slowly turned a page with a serious face. “I have no reasons to dress richly and extravagantly. I would only attract unwanted, negative attention and that is the last thing the Inquisitor needs.”

Dorian opened his mouth to reply, but Solas stopped him with another glare.

“In fact, my look will help me spy on possible threats better.” he added, before moving his eyes back to the books. “I will stay somewhere distant yet close to the Inquisitor, listening to all the conversations the guests will feel free to have near a humble, homely elf. A change of clothes would make no sense for me.”

“And you consider yourself _brilliant_?” Dorian exclaimed, looking him up and down, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“I do believe to possess a great deal of intelligence, yes.” Solas frowned, but he refused to look up at the Altus again, wanting him to go away and not prompt him to stay anymore. That conversation had already bothered him enough.

But Dorian was _stubborn_ and ignored completely his cold stance and distant words to focus on that _trivial_ matter that seemed so important to him: clothes. Solas’ blood was about to boil.

“I have news for you, my dear hobo of the forests.” the human announced, causing him to roll his eyes. “You may be an expert of the Fade, spirits, and bald heads, but you _suck_ at romance.”

This caught Solas’ attention entirely.

“I am sorry?” he gasped and now it was his turn to be shocked.

“You seriously think Lavellan won’t come to you during the party?” Dorian shook his head. “I bet she is terrified by the thought of having all those human nobles pestering her with questions and sly jokes about her Dalish origins. She will run to the closest person that makes her feel good and that person is _you_.”

Solas’ anger came back. Was he seriously implying that he didn’t want to stay at her side and support her? That he didn’t know how she was feeling? _How dare he_ -

Dorian interrupted his thoughts with a sigh and his expression became sympathetic and somewhat disappointed.

“You won’t be able to pass up as a simple elven servant or assistant, Solas. The nobles will notice the looks she will _certainly_ give you. And what then? Do you think they will approve of the Inquisitor’s mate? One of the greatest leaders of this world bonded with a man dressed like a peasant! Wonderful!”

Solas sprang up, palms flat on the desk, nails digging into the wood. Dorian returned the icy look without problems and continued as if everything was normal: “We are her… how do the Orlesians say it? Ah, yes! _Entourage_. The guests will judge us to judge her. We can’t let them talk behind her back and criticize the Inquisition, not before the Ball.” He straightened his back and concluded solemnly: “We can’t let them offend her through us. I won’t allow that.”

As quickly as it had come, Solas’ anger left him and he blinked in surprise at the human standing in front of him. He tried to picture Lavellan in a room full of nobles, merchants, chevaliers, and ladies with masks and fans to cover their true intentions; he saw her great strength and willpower, her intelligence and kind, but firm ways, her tact. But he also remembered the fear he had seen in her eyes when she had read the letters, the panic in having to deal with a reality that the Dalish never faced, at least not like that. He saw her strained smile, her tired eyes as the humans around her chatted idly and asked her useless questions. All to gain more influence and power at the Winter Palace, a place where the Game was even worse and ruthless, a place where she was not the leader.

He could see her coming to him to find some peace and tranquility; he could see her smile become bright and feel her hand slip into his. The curious guests would whisper and eye him oddly, then laugh and ask Lavellan why that servant so poorly dressed was looking at her so sweetly. She would answer that he was not a servant, but a precious member of the Inquisition and they would _understand_ , the Orlesians always did, it was part of the Game, and they would grimace, questioning her choices, her tastes, _their love_ , and she would feel so _mortified_ and sorry for him and…

And then he saw _suitors_. Boring, arrogant, old, young, handsome, weak men striving for her attention, hoping to flirt well and long enough to have power at the Ball or, even better, become part of the Inquisition itself. He saw their fake, lascivious smiles, their hands briefly touching her arms - the Game was a dance and those were the moves -, their voices lowering so she had to lean closer to hear them. He saw the lust - she was beautiful, radiant, gorgeous -, he saw her discomfort and polite refusals, her grace and shyness luring those beasts near her even more.

But he was a wolf and those _humans_ were nothing compared to him. He would be there and he would let none of them lay a single finger on his beloved nor let them embarrass her with dirty innuendos that she, with all her innocence, couldn’t understand. Those - together with offense and disapproval - were threats too and he was ready to protect here against all kinds of damage.

He sat down, exhaling slowly.

“You are right.” he said and Dorian beamed at him, his face a mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction.

“Of course I am!” he exclaimed, but before he could say more and _brag_ , Solas continued: “I underestimated the importance of this event. The Inquisitor needs all our support and I will make sure to give her mine in the best way I can.”

“So you will change attire?” Dorian grinned and when the other man nodded solemnly, he laughed with triumph and patted his back.

“That’s what I wanted to hear! I am glad you came to your senses, my friend! I was going to go complain to Josephine and deny you any access to the party until you had changed your mind.”

He placed the clothes on the desk - after making sure it was clean enough - and looked around, searching for something. He found it and went to the other desk placed against the wall, took the only other chair in the room and brought it back to the center of the rotunda.

He sat on it with grace, crossing his legs, and ignored completely Solas’ scowl to grin at him and open his arms with the palms of his hands facing up.

“So!” he started. “Do you have any particular color in mind? A special pattern you want to see on the shirt? Preferred fabric?”

Solas realized what was happening and narrowed his eyes, staring at Dorian until the grin on his face slowly faded away.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, now!”

The Altus reached forward and tugged at the sleeve of Solas’ sweater, using only two fingers to grasp it.

“See this abhorrent color? I can’t let you pick something like this!”

He quickly let the sleeve go and made a funny face, as if he had eaten a sour or unpleasant food.

“ _Kaffas_. Can I ask you a personal question, Solas? Promise me not to burn off my mustache, though.”

The elf sighed and rolled his eyes, wondering if a way to get rid of that human existed at all.

“You already received the answer you desperately needed to hear. Now please go and let me read in peace.”

“Not before you answer me.” Dorian scrunched his nose, groaning. “When was the last time you cleaned that thing? It _stinks_.”

Solas bristled and forced himself to calm down, to not lose his composure. He had suffered worse questions in the past. A silly thing like that didn’t offend him-

“It smells like… soil. And wet dog.” Dorian scoffed, still eyeing the sweater as if it was a gross, icky thing… which probably was to him. “Unbelievable. And you hug and kiss Lavellan while wearing _that_?”

Perfectly aware of his own red cheeks and ears, Solas made to respond, ready to push the Altus out of the room if necessary, but then he remembered the night before, Lavellan’s smile when she had worn his clothes, her request to wear them again to sleep. She had said nothing about the smell; on the contrary she had complimented his outfit, and now he felt like a fool.

“I…” He sniffed the sleeve of the sweater, frowning in concentration, but it didn’t seem so bad to him. Was it because he constantly wore it and was used to it, because he had spent years in the wilderness and after a while strong odors went unnoticed? He knew when his armor smelled bad - blood, guts, and demonic ichor had a very distinctive smell and he couldn’t ignore that. But simply _unwashed_ clothes were a different matter and apparently he paid no mind to that.

“She… she never said anything about it.” he murmured in the end, staring at the old, worn-out fabric with an incredulous, soft look, and Dorian let out a snort.

“Of course she didn’t! That woman is a saint and would rather cut off her left, sparkling hand than embarrass you.”

Solas clenched his jaw, cursing himself. He wanted to stay alone and think about it in peace. He _needed_ to think, that was a serious matter that he hadn’t noticed, and he hated himself for that. How could he be so blind?

The doubts and self-awareness he had felt in the Dalish camp came back in full force and he felt vile, foolish; he had always considered himself to be clever and intelligent, but that same wretched _pride_ didn’t let him see more, didn’t let him understand certain things that he had never experienced or known before. He felt naïve and agreed with Dorian: Lavellan was kind, too kind and good. He didn’t deserve her.

Now that they were together, he couldn’t give her up anymore: he was weak, _so weak_ , and the thought of leaving Lavellan pierced his heart like a hot spear. He had to be good to her. He wanted to make her happy, because they had so little time and the truth was so often on his lips, ready to be spoken, that he wanted to give her all he could before it was too late, before he had to leave or before she refused him, frightened and disgusted by his identity.

Cole’s words echoed in his head. He’d said she would understand. That she would accept the truth, accept _him_ , and Solas closed his eyes for a moment, the scenes he had imagined before flowing into his mind once again.

Dorian saw his sudden change of mood and sighed, getting up and retrieving his formal clothes.

“How can I let you choose your attire alone? You will just wear another sweater in better conditions and call it a day. Let me ask Vivienne and our tailors and we…”

“No!”

Solas looked up at him, his gaze intense, without anger, a promise in his blue and gray eyes; he was telling the human he could trust him, but also to mind his own business and not involve anyone in that situation.

“I will find something good for the party. I want this to be good for Lavellan as much as you do. Even more than that.” He closed all the books on his desk and got up, the chair scraping softly on the carpet. “I have seen… interesting styles in the Fade. I will come up with something. No need to bother the First Enchanter and your fancy, Orlesian tailors.”

“I will regret this. I know I will.” Dorian grumbled, but he looked convinced enough and finally headed to the door with a resigned sigh.

“Remember, if you ever need help with the colors…”

“I will certainly not ask you.”

The Altus scowled at him, but his disappointment quickly became surprise when Solas said, very serious and honest:

“Thank you, Dorian. Your advice was precious.”

That seemed to please the young man. He held his chin high and nodded at the elf with a small smirk, his ego boosted, his good heart satisfied and happy.

Just then the door opened and his smugness turned into cheerfulness and fondness when he saw the flushed and disheveled face of Lavellan.

“Ah, here is my best friend!” He kissed her cheek and observed her carefully. “What happened to you? You look like you ran all across the courtyard like the new recruits do.”

“Kind of.” Lavellan laughed, more a relieved sigh than a real laugh. “I had to reply to some important letters. Thanks the Creators Josephine was there to help me.”

“Oh?” Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “Letters from your admirers?”

She blushed and looked away, mumbling a timid “yes”, as if it was her fault they had sent those things to her. Solas’ first instinct was to go to her and hug her, but Dorian’s reaction stopped him.

“Maker! Are you serious?” the human looked horrified by the mere idea and Solas felt grateful for it. He had almost feared his jokes and loud enthusiasm, but he seemed really worried for Lavellan.

“It’s alright, though!” she reassured him, smiling brightly. “Josephine helped me write good replies. They won’t bother me anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have helped too!” Dorian was pouting, now, and he turned to Solas with the fury of an overprotective sibling: “Solas? Did you know about this?”

“Yes.” the apostate nodded. “We read them yesterday night.” He smiled at Lavellan, whose blush became redder and smile broader. “I am glad to hear you took care of them successfully, _vhenan_.”

“I want to read them!” Dorian exclaimed, scoffing when Lavellan laughed in front of his amusing, offended face. “It’s a serious thing! As your best friend, I demand to read that stuff and laugh at those filthy beasts with you!” He gasped, bringing a hand above his heart. “Did they use a lewd language?”

“Some of them.” Lavellan admitted, shuffling her feet on the hard floor. She looked uncomfortable and Solas decided to intervene.

“It does not matter anymore. The replies have been written and soon they will be delivered. Let us not talk about this again.”

He glared at Dorian, who pulled Lavellan into his arms and gasped indignantly: “Solas! Those nobles have offended her innocence! Are you not furious?”

“I am.” Solas admitted and he saw the way Lavellan lightened up and hid her smile against Dorian’s chest. “But I know that she dealt with them excellently, so there is no need to worry about them.”

“Those won’t be the last ones, though.” Lavellan said, patting Dorian’s back before pulling away. “More will come, especially after the Ball.” She sighed, rubbing her arm absentmindedly. “And I guess I have to expect some requests at this party Leliana wants to throw, too.”

“I will be there.” Solas blurted out, sure and confident; he blushed when Lavellan beamed at him and Dorian showed the most smartass grin ever. “… Together with the rest of the Inquisition, of course. We will keep threats and harassers far from you, _vhenan_.”

“See? Your beloved Solas will be right there at your side.” Dorian winked and went through the archway, his free hand on the handle of the door. “And he promised he is going to be all fancy and elegant for you, my dear!”

Before Lavellan could ask more or Solas glare at him, he laughed and went out, closing the door behind himself.

Lavellan didn’t enter in the rotunda immediately; she lingered near the door while Solas tidied up his desk and left space on it for the tray of food that was probably coming from the kitchens. Then she went to him, a tender smile on her face, and Solas felt all his worries and fears disappear, destroyed by the light that the love in her eyes was.

He caressed her face, returning the smile, and she asked, resting her hand upon his: “Are you really going to change clothes for the party?”

“Yes.”

She was so close and he was aware of the smell of his sweater now, so he cleared his throat and said with a timid, sorry smile: “… So I will be able to wash these ones better. I fear they need some water and soap. The smell is… not good.”

Lavellan’s smile went away, replaced by a worried frown.

“Did you forget I am a Dalish? It is not that bad! They are not exactly _clean_ , but…” she let out a frustrated sound, hands on her hips. She looked adorable and Solas couldn’t help but snort, even when she asked with a badly concealed fury: “It was Dorian, wasn’t it? He told you that your clothes smell!”

“Perhaps.” he admitted and before Lavellan could charge out of the room, looking for the Altus to smack his head and call him an idiot, he took her hand and kissed it. “But he is right. We had so much to do and think about that I completely forgot about such a simple, normal thing. That, and… cleaning my stuff has never been easy during my travels. I tended to do it rarely, since I owned so little and it got dirty so often that it was useless to spend much time on it.”

He tapped her nose and her anger melted away.

“Plus I did not have to worry about anyone around me. That has now changed, so I will do my best not to make anyone flee at my mere sight.” He looked away, ears red. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, my heart.”

Lavellan giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him with sparkly eyes.

“Silly. I am never uncomfortable around you.”

She sighed, her smile big, and said matter-of-factly: “You need more clothes. A second set for when this one is drying.” She pulled herself up on her toes to press a kiss on the scar on his forehead. “What if you tore your sweater? Or worse, your pants?”

“I would sew them back.” Solas pecked her lips, his hands rubbing pleasantly the small of her back. “I am pretty skilled with the needle.”

“I am serious, Solas.” she poked his side, making his lips twitch. “You need a new armor too. Just let me know what you’d like, I will ask Harritt and Dagna to help me make something good.” She grinned, bouncing on her feet. “I can sew well too, you know? I used to sew my friends’ clothes or make plushes for their kids back at the clan. So I can make you a new shirt or pair of pants too!”

“Ah.” Solas stroked her cheek, his mind already lost into fantasies of Lavellan sewing toys for children, _their_ children. “I would be happy to receive something made from you.”

“Good. A new armor and set of clothes coming soon, then.” she kissed the palm of his hand, sighing. “After the party, I guess. I met Leliana as I went here and she told me we need to prepare many things. And I will need to learn some…” she frowned, looking for the right word. “Uh… how did she call it? It was an Orlesian term…”

“ _Etiquette_?” Solas offered and her face lightened up.

“That one! All the rules and table manners, so these new, possible allies won’t treat me too badly.” Lavellan huffed and bit her lips, her eyes distant, focused on all the things that could go wrong. “I will need to learn dance moves too.”

“Do not worry.” he kissed her forehead. “We will be there with you.” He lowered his voice and cupped her face with his hands. “ _I_ will be there. Fear not.”

She smiled at him and the sight made him feel tingly and complete.

“Thank you.”

“Leliana and Josephine will also assist you in every way necessary before the party.” he smirked and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “And if you have doubts, you can come to me too. I have seen things in the Fade and in my journeys across Thedas that could help you with human customs.”

“You are lucky.” she chuckled. “I would love to be so experienced. Sometimes I feel so lost.” she blushed, perhaps fearing she had said something stupid. “I thought I knew the world and how it worked. The Dalish and city elves lived in a certain way, while the humans, dwarves, and qunari in another. The humans were violent, the dwarves grumpy, the qunari unpredictable, and we had to avoid them all.”

She sighed, staring at the carpet beneath her feet.

“But then I met Cassandra and she is brash, but also very kind and romantic. Dorian is from Tevinter, but he never said anything bad about my race. Varric is cheerful and jokes a lot and always asks me how I am doing. Bull is the worst qunari I have ever seen. Then I knew I was wrong, that I had to see things with my eyes instead of listening to rumors reaching our camp or believing the horror stories we told around the fire. Becoming Inquisitor has not been a bad thing, after all.” She laughed and looked up at Solas, who was observing her intensely. “If I learned so much in so little time, I can only imagine what you saw in your long travels through the years.”

Solas was quiet, once again baffled by her wisdom and positivity. She saw the good in everyone and was ready to change her ideas and beliefs when she realized they were wrong. She craved knowledge and her spirit was bright like the sun, scorching the darkness away. It wasn’t just the mark on her hand that made her so respected; everyone who met her could see that light inside her and followed it, awed by it.

Cole was right.

_'She would really understand. She would really accept…'_

“Solas?”

He blinked and focused back on her face; she looked worried, anxious, and was clearly wondering if she had said something bad.

“Is everything alright?”

“… Yes. Yes, _vhenan_ , I am fine.” He kissed her, reassuring her she had done nothing wrong. “Forgive me. I was reflecting on what you said.” He smiled and he knew it was a bittersweet thing, but he couldn’t help it. “You are right. This world can be surprising and there is still good in it, despite… despite all the mistakes. That is a relief.”

“You told me I was a surprise too.” she said jokingly and his smile turned soft.

“It is true.” he murmured, raising her chin with two fingers. “The most beautiful and sweetest surprise.”

He kissed her and as always she clung to him, hungry and eager, plump, soft lips playing with his, and he laughed into her mouth, a hand on her hair, the other on her back. When he broke the kiss, he kept her close, forehead against forehead, and looked into her eyes.

“Solas.” she said, a bit worried. “Are you sure you want to change clothes for the party? You don’t have to, you know that, right?”

“Hush.” he kissed her nose. “I will be perfectly fine. Dorian is right, we need to look our best to impress our new allies.”

“Dorian convinced you?” she exclaimed in disbelief, then giggled and shook her head. “It must be true, then, that the world is coming to an end.”

“I certainly hope not.” Solas smirked. “I want to spend much more time with you, _vhenan_.”

He regretted those words - even if they were absolutely true -, because Lavellan let out a breathy, happy laugh and rested her cheek on his shoulder, a joyous smile on her face. She thought he was referring to their life together after the war and he felt _disgusting_.

He had to do something. He had to talk with her like Cole had told him to do. But the possible outcomes scared him beyond measure and he felt powerless, trapped in a stalemate, every road filled with uncertainty and fear.

The risks were too high and he couldn’t bear the thought of putting her in danger. _But_ he couldn’t possibly keep hiding the truth, not when she had so many hopes for their future together, so many timid plans and ideas that he desired as well and couldn’t help but mention in his extreme, terrible _weakness_.

“ _Vhenan_ …” he started and she squeezed him tightly.

“Yes, _ma sa’lath_?”

Warmth blossomed in his chest and Solas closed his eyes for a moment.

“You…” he took a deep breath, then: “You know I love you, don’t you?”

She tilted her head up and the look in her eyes made his heart beat faster and he felt so, so happy and strong, like he had never felt before.

“Of course I do.” A deep shade of red spread on her face and she opened her mouth, ready to say something, her dainty fingers stroking his cheekbones, her eyes bright like the sun outside. Solas held her tighter, waiting, and part of him already knew what she wanted to tell him and he felt lighter, elated, but also sad, because she deserved the truth before speaking those words, she deserved to know who he was, she _deserved_ …

The door creaked loudly and the servant from before entered, bringing a tray of food and the tea for Solas.

“Master Solas, here is…”

He looked up from the tray and stopped, eyes wide; the two elves pulled away from each other and Lavellan pretended to focus on the papers on the desk, while Solas acknowledged the servant’s presence with a curt nod.

“Uh…” the man babbled, gulping, looking back and forth the Inquisitor and her mate. “I… I will leave this here then.” He approached the desk and placed the tray on the free space Solas had made for it.

“Inquisitor.” the servant greeted Lavellan with a bow of his head and she returned the gesture, her cheeks still red and the look in her eyes a bit disappointed, but her smile was genuinely kind. The servant quickly left with another bow, a huge grin on his face; the kitchen staff would undoubtedly have much to talk about thanks to him.

Solas cleared his throat and went to Lavellan, placing a hand on her back while he observed what they had prepared for her. The servants knew her tastes by now, but he was always very critical in every matter that concerned her health.

“You ate nothing for breakfast, am I right?”

He turned to her with a smirk and saw her trying to come up with a plausible answer, hands flailing around, beautiful eyes avoiding his.

“Not exactly, I mean…! I _did_ eat something. It wasn’t a full breakfast, just…” She shrugged, tried to find a good excuse, then gave up and sighed, rubbing her neck.

“Fine. You could say I basically ate air.”

Solas laughed, the sound ending with a snort, and Lavellan grinned sheepishly at him.

“Sorry. I know I promised, but there were so many letters that I completely lost track of the time.”

“Worry not. There is plenty of food here.” Solas gestured at the tray and Lavellan licked her lips: the cooks have prepared her favorite soup. She liked hot, comforting dishes just like he did, the kind that left one’s belly warm and content for the whole night.

She saw the kettle and cup for him and asked, worried again: “Solas, are you not going to eat?”

“I had a good breakfast.” he replied, sitting down on his chair and taking the kettle to start pouring the steaming drink. “Tea will be sufficient.”

“There is a second bowl of soup if you are feeling hungry.” Lavellan took one and the small roll of bread next to it and sat on Solas’ lap, as she always did when they ate together. He kissed her neck, wrapping an arm around her waist to make her sit and eat more comfortably, and watched her eat with a smile. She was _starving_ : her bites were so large and fast and her expression so happy and excited, she had probably dreamed that moment for the whole day.

“Is it good?” he asked with a chuckle, sipping his tea, and she nodded with an enthusiastic hum.

“Here!” she said after swallowing a particularly large spoon of soup. “Try it!”

They spent the next several minutes in peace and tenderness, another of their domestic moments that they so much loved. They talked about the fresco, the four panels already completed, the studies Solas was busy with, the young elven apprentice they had met, the food Lavellan was eating.

“It was so tasty!” she sighed happily once she was finished. “It doesn’t beat the hearth cakes, but it was so very welcome after the hard work of this morning.”

Solas pressed his lips on her shoulder, kept them there for a second, then asked thoughtfully: “Do you know how to prepare them, _vhenan_?”

“Every Dalish knows how to make hearth cakes. Even children.” she giggled. She leaned over the desk to take the two frilly cakes the cooks had included in the menu and handed one to Solas, the sweetest one with more decorations on it.

“No, my heart.” he said with a smile, taking the other one instead. “You deserved it.”

He kissed her when she tried to protest and soon their hands were sticky with colored frosting and sugar. She gasped softly as he started to clean her right one with his mouth.

“I… I think they are watching us.” she whispered, biting her lower lip, while Solas suckled the space between each finger until she got tense and flushed.

“You mean the curious bystanders above us?” he asked, not even looking up, too concentrated on her tender skin.

Lavellan didn’t turn to look at them either; she was too busy watching Solas’ full, soft lips move on her hand, but she could feel the stares and hear the giggles and whispers.

“Y-Yes.” she babbled and he chuckled, giving one last kiss to her index finger before starting to nibble playfully at her wrist.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked, nuzzling her palm and meeting her eyes, ready to stop if she was. She smiled and shook her head, leaning in to wrap her free arm around his neck and press her lips on his bald head.

“I told you, I am never uncomfortable around you, Solas.”

“Good.” he smiled at her, continuing to pepper her hand with little, light kisses. “Because I am quite comfortable around you as well, _vhenan_. Let the others watch us, if they want; our relationship is not a secret and there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

He kept kissing her - now clean - hand, while she watched him and studied his face, like she had done countless times before. She knew she was smiling goofily, that her cheeks were on fire, and that Solas could feel her stare on him, but she couldn’t help it.

“So, what color are my eyes today?” he asked suddenly and she gaped at him, dumbstruck, before whining and hiding her face against his shoulder. He burst into a deep laughter, stroking her back with wide, tender caresses.

“I am sorry.” he said, still laughing, mirth and love in the sound. “It was stronger than me.”

Lavellan tried to push him away and get off his lap, but his arms closed around her gently, but firmly and his tone got lower, deeper, even playful:

“Where are you going, _vhenan_?”

“Somewhere where no one is a dreadful tease like you.” she grunted, still trying to get free, but his embrace only became tighter and stronger.

“I doubt you will find such a place. Everyone in the Inquisition is a tease. Why not stay with the best one, then?” he smiled innocently and she huffed, fell down on his shoulder again, and refused to look at him. He poked her back, but she just shrugged her shoulders to stop him and pinched his side, making him gasp.

“Ah! This means you paid particular attention to them!” he laughed again; she tried to squirm away a second time, but she wasn’t really putting her heart into it, so it was easy for him to keep her still.

“They are blue.” she murmured after a moment. “Happy now?”

He chuckled, pressed a kiss on her neck with a loud smack, and smiled innocently again. “Very much so.”

She raised her head, the corners of her mouth already curling upwards, and gently brushed her fingertips against his brow, moving them down to touch the light circles under his eyes.

“ _Vhenan_ …” Solas said softly, watching her lovingly. “I would like to prepare some hearth cakes with you someday.”

Her eyes got bigger.

“Really?” she gasped. She was surprised, probably not expecting him to propose doing something so typically Dalish.

He smiled, bringing a hand - and his was still dirty with icing - up to her face. He smeared the pink frosting on her cheek, grinning when she giggled, and said: “Really. It would be a funny and beautiful experience.” He smirked, a bit of pride in his voice: “And you said even children know how to make them. Surely we would do a good job together.”

“I…” she looked down at his pendant, playing with its strings, a pleased smile on her flushed face. “I would like that very much.”

“Good. Once there is time, I will ask the ambassador to order the right ingredients. The Inquisition can perfectly afford to spend more sovereigns for the Inquisitor’s food, once in a while.” He took her chin and raised her head to look at her. “It will be our reward for the party and the next, hard missions that await us.”

Her smile broader, she traced the teeth of the jawbone, then looked at him timidly from under her long eyelashes, murmuring: “I can’t wait.”

The love Solas felt for her exploded in him, so vast and full and great he couldn’t contain it in his heart and body anymore. He could almost see it fill every recess and nooks in the rotunda, up to the roof and outside, until all Skyhold was impregnated with it.

He felt courage come back to him and he opened his mouth, ready to ask her to go to her quarters, heart thundering painfully in his chest together with the thrumming, burning truth.

Lavellan leaned down, her breath ghosting over his lips, and Solas looked at her through half-closed eyes, the words almost out; she kissed his cheek, then his nose, finally his mouth, and he drown in the taste of her.

“ _Vhenan_.” he gasped when they broke the kiss, fingers digging into her clothes. “I need to…”

“Inquisitor?”

Lavellan yelped and looked up from where the voice had come from; Leliana was peering down into the rotunda. Even from there, Lavellan could see her grin.

“Forgive the intrusion, but urgent matters regarding the party need your attention.”

“Of… of course! I’m coming right away!”

She turned back to Solas, an apology in her eyes, and he nodded, hiding his disappointment behind a smile.

“Go, my love. Your duties are more important than this old wolf.”

“That’s not true.” she gave him one last kiss, her mouth lingering on his for a long time, then she got off his lap. Solas’ hands twitched, already missing her warmth and presence.

“I will see you later.” she added, smiling brightly, as she headed to the stairs. “Don’t strain your back! And eat something!”

She waved at him until she disappeared behind the wall and Solas leaned back into the chair, his body and spirit craving her. He couldn’t concentrate on the books anymore, not when she was just two levels above, her gentle voice ringing in the room, so easily recognizable for him even among the fits of cough, whispers, and the loud squawking of the crows. He got up and decided to spend time outside for once. That way time would pass faster and he would see her sooner…

Funny how he didn’t even looked forward to visit the Fade in his sleep as he did before. Now she was the one that had his complete and utter attention, the only creature in all Thedas that could distract him from his dreams. She was what he most desired during the day and the night, both mentally and physically. Her questions and wise words, her hands on his body, her brilliant thoughts, her lips pressed on his, her kindness…

He snapped out of his reverie and went into the main hall; Varric was at his table, writing down notes on small pieces of paper.

“Chuckles.” the dwarf greeted him with a nod and a smile. “Going out for a walk?”

“I need some fresh air.” Solas replied. He tilted his head to read the papers neatly arranged on the table. “Are you working on the next chapter of _Swords and Shields_?”

“Cassandra will skin me alive if I don’t give her the new part soon.” Varric scratched his head, studying what he had written with a grim face. “Andraste’s tits. I have no idea how to make these two get together.”

He gave up for the moment, preferring to concentrate on Solas, and asked: “So, are you going to change for the party, Chuckles? Sparkles can be very convincing.”

“Ah.” Solas frowned. “So Dorian came to you too?”

“He must miss parties a lot.” Varric laughed, shaking his head. “He wants everything - and _everyone_ \- to be perfect, maybe more than Josephine.” He sighed, pushing away the papers from under his face. “I know this is important, though. First party thrown by the Inquisition, just before the Ball at Empress Celene’s court, lots of rich nobles in visit and so on. I get it.”

“We need to impress them. For once, Dorian is right. Looking good will be the first step to help the Inquisitor in making new allies.”

“Is she alright?” Varric sounded worried, now, and a slight crease appeared on his forehead. “This will be nothing compared to Halamshiral, I’m sure, but it’s still a huge thing for a Dalish.”

“She is… nervous.” Solas admitted, clasping his hands behind his back. “But as long as we are there with her, everything will go fine.”

“Don’t worry, Chuckles. She is a strong woman.” the dwarf winked. “And she is going to give her best with you being all fancy and nice in the same room.”

“Well…” Solas cleared his throat, ears and cheeks red, and nodded, ready to leave. “Good luck with your book, Master Tethras.”

“I need a miracle, not good luck…” Varric groaned, glaring at the notes with the rage of a creator who couldn’t make his creatures behave like he wanted.

  
  
\- - -

  
  
Solas spent the afternoon with the elven apprentice, teaching him more Elvhen and answering his questions, and in the garden, where he collected more herbs for their potions and unguents. He knew Lavellan had wanted to do it for a long time, but never found the time, so he took care of it and filled a rather large satchel with elfroot and embrium.

By the time he was finished, the sun was setting behind the high, white mountains and lights and torches were lit in all Skyhold, giving the fortress an eerie, romantic vibe. As he headed back to the rotunda, he heard loud cheers and a music he had never heard before coming from the tavern. It was a _waltz_ and it surprised him, since the only tunes usually sung at the Herald’s Rest were popular ballads or the minstrel’s personal creations.

He stopped in the courtyard, listening intently, watching as people flowed into the tavern with huge grins or puzzled faces. When the door opened, he saw people dancing, following the rhythm of the minstrel and other musicians, and he understood: it was practice for the party and at the same time for the Ball at Halamshiral.

Mouth set in a straight line, he started to walk away from the confusion and noise, desiring to hide in the rotunda with his books… and hopefully Lavellan.

He wondered where she was, if she was still busy with whatever duty Leliana had informed her of. He missed her so much, even though only a few hours had passed since their last meeting.

He realized he was _pining_ and it didn’t bother him as much as it should have had.

Just as he began to imagine his evening with Lavellan, his clothes for the party, the ways to make her feel better in presence of all those nobles, a hand tapped his elbow, making him jump.

He abruptly turned around, a scowl etched on his face which only slightly relaxed when he saw the grinning, cheerful face of Scout Harding.

“Oh. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Messer Solas! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.” the freckled dwarf pointed at the tavern with her thumb. “Wanna join our dance? I’m helping people practice for the party. Sister Leliana approved the idea; apparently many members of the Inquisition have only ever moved their feet to kick other people’s butts or to go from a point to another.”

“I…” Solas glanced at the open door, at the light coming from it and the windows; he listened at the loud laughter, cheers, and obnoxious sounds that one could hear in any tavern; then he looked back at Harding, his lips curled into a polite smile.

“Thank you for your offer, but I must refuse. I still have many things to do.”

“That’s a pity.” Harding grumbled. “The Inquisitor has been asking for you this whole time. I was actually going to call you and the others who-”

“Wait.” Solas looked at the open door with new interest. “The Inquisitor is in there?”

“Yes! She never danced a human dance before, so she was one of those who most needed to practice.” Harding grinned, hands on her hips. “She is already making progress, but she would get much better with you, Messer Solas.”

His eyes didn’t move from the glow surrounding the door; it suddenly looked warmer, more appealing, and knowing that Lavellan was there and had asked for him…

“I guess I could use some practice too.” he murmured in the end and Harding’s grin grew tenfold.

“Good!” she exclaimed, already going to the stairs leading into the fortress. “I will go call the others then. The Inquisitor will be happy to see you.”

He nodded, hoping his cheeks weren’t too red, and headed to the tavern, his steps long and quick, his mouth dry, and mind slightly foggy.

When he entered, the smell of food and ale invaded his nostrils, while his ears were invested by Bull’s booming laughter, a bard’s thrilling voice counting the dance moves, and the shouted advices and jokes of the people sitting at the tables or gathered near the fire, where the dancers were.

Some eyes turned to him, but Solas ignored them all, looking for Lavellan; he saw her sitting at the counter with Cole, both watching the poor, unfortunate agents or soldiers trying to follow the bard’s instructions. He went to her, dodging people’s flailing arms and spilled ale.

She noticed him and her eyes became bright and her smile big and warm; her hand immediately caught his once he was close enough.

“Solas!” she said enthusiastically. “Finally, I’ve been asking for you! Where have you been?”

“In the garden.” he showed her the full satchel, his smile as broad as hers, the tips of his ears red and hot. “Scout Harding told me you were practicing…?”

“I will never learn those steps!” she huffed, looking at the dancers stumbling in front of the fireplace. “Zither is so patient, but humans have such weird dances!”

“The rhythm is easy, but the feet don’t want to move. Up and down, left and right, there is an order, but the mind cannot learn it. Not yet.” Cole smiled at her from under his hat. “You need more time.”

“I need a miracle.” she grumbled, patting his back, her expression not much different from Varric’s during his writer blocks, then she blinked. “Cole, how come you are so good at this?” She turned to Solas, eyes wide with wonder and surprise. “Really, he is great! I practiced with him earlier and he is by far one of the best dancers.”

“Oh?” Solas tilted his head and took a seat at Lavellan’s other side. “Do you read people’s mind to see the right steps, Cole?”

“Yes. But I also listen to the music.” he tapped one foot on the floor, following perfectly the tune. “It’s a language. You must use your heart to understand it, not just your head.”

“That’s it. The Empress is going to die not because of an assassin, but because she will trip on my clumsy feet and fall down a balcony.” Lavellan narrowed her eyes at the legs of the dancing people and mumbled: “How do they do that? Dread Wolf take me, how do they do _that_?”

Solas moved uncomfortably on the stool and held his breath when Cole spoke: “You should go there again. You can’t get better if you don’t move your feet.”

Lavellan fidgeted, clearly too intimidated to give it a try a second time; Solas gently rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.

“Do you want to try it with me, _vhenan_?” He would have gladly faced the crowd, the stares, and the cheers just to dance and be with her, and she clearly thought the same, because her eyes, shining like the sun, got lost into his and she gave him that smile she had only for him.

“I…”

“Inquisitor! May I have this dance?”

Solas almost growled. He and Lavellan turned to the person who had spoken and his eyes narrowed instantly at poor Loranil, who was standing with his arm outstretched towards Lavellan, hand wide open.

“Oh! Well… uh…” she looked torn, not wanting to be rude and mortify him, but greatly preferring to spend time with Solas instead. Loranil grinned sheepishly, perhaps noticing her difficulty, and added: “I can’t really understand this _shemlen_ dance, so I thought that we could try together.”

“Very well.” Lavellan smiled, a small, empty smile. She didn’t see how Loranil’s face got crimson red nor how big his toothy grin became, because she turned to Solas and mouthed: “I’m sorry.”

He waved her apologies away, telling her not to worry with a small smile, and watched her take the young man’s hand and go to the dance floor. The cheers got louder to welcome her and he heard Bull’s roar above the crowd.

“Boss! Come on, you can do it!”

Even Sera, leaning on the railing of the second floor, clapped her hands and cried out: “What are you doin’ with those feet, Inquisitor? You look like a drunk nug!”

“Shut up, Sera!” Bull grinned, his eye twinkling mischievously. “You are next, so you better prepare!”

“What?? No, fuck off! I’m not doing that shitty dance!”

Solas didn’t look away from Lavellan for a single second; Loranil kept their bodies pressed close - _too close_ \- and his touch was respectful and timid, but sometimes also bold and daring. On more than one occasion, the hand on her back moved to her waist and when Lavellan stumbled and fell forward, he caught her in his arms with perfect timing, laughing. Lavellan immediately pulled back, as if burned, but he took the lead again, guiding her in the dance as if nothing had happened.

He probably hadn’t received the news that the Inquisitor had refused Hawen’s offer from his clan; he still believed he had a chance, that if he tried hard enough she would accept his hand and bond with him. He looked genuinely interested in her and not just for political reasons; he was clearly enthralled by her and his face and gestures betrayed a huge, growing crush.

That detail fueled Solas’ jealousy more than anything else, making it even worse and more painful.

“The Wolf is growling.” Cole murmured and Solas snarled.

“That… _brat_ looks more interested in melting their bodies together than practice for a ball.” he kept glaring at the Dalish boy, fingers digging into his pants like claws.

“Yes. He wants to kiss her.” Cole frowned. “He doesn’t know she is your _vhenan_.”

Solas exhaled slowly through his nose, his glare borderline murderous, and the spirit continued: “You are imagining her in another dance. She is in your arms, flowers on her head, a golden dress swirling around her legs and bare feet.”

Solas’ expression softened. It was true, he was picturing her like that; dressed like a queen, dancing with him the ancient, marital dances of Arlathan he had seen in his youth. He imagined her calling him ‘ _ara’isha_ ’ and his heart beat faster.

He saw her twirl, her hand in Loranil’s, and the Wolf growled again, the fantasy shattered. He wanted to be there, taking that insufferable boy’s place. He wanted to be the one holding her, no matter how many people watched them, no matter how many eyes followed their steps.

“You are sad, because his smile is young, his laughter juvenile, his body doesn’t get tired. There are no wrinkles around his eyes and in his heart, no scars on his soul, he doesn’t carry a heavy weight and duty. He is lively like her. He is a pup, but he will grow up soon.”

Cole slowly turned to him and Solas heard the smile in his voice.

“But he is not you. She doesn’t love him and never will. She wants to dance with you, to run away from his arms to fall into yours. She wants only you.” the spirit hummed and concentrated briefly. “She already misses your calloused hands on her waist.”

Solas swallowed the lump in his throat, fingers shaking.

The music stopped for a moment to let the dancers rest and Lavellan, flushed and a bit sweaty, shook her head, refusing another round.

“Inquisitor! Just one more time!” Zither the Virtuoso begged her and then the door opened and Dorian appeared, accompanied by a grumbling Cassandra, a sleepy Blackwall, and a resigned Varric. Harding looked pretty proud of herself and gladly accepted a cold mug of beer from Krem.

“Lavellan!” Dorian shouted, opening wide his arms, and she grinned at him, letting him hug her tightly and kiss her sweaty cheek.

“Ew.” he brushed back the hair on her face. “For how long have you been dancing with this bunch of incompetent, sad fellows?”

“Not much. But this kind of dance isn’t really my strong point.” she sighed and turned with a wistful look to Solas; she couldn’t see him well due to all the people in her line of vision and thankfully she didn’t see his grim, dark face.

“Don’t worry, your Dorian is here now!” the Altus smirked, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders, as if he was preparing for battle rather than a _waltz_. “Come, I will show you how it’s done!”

“Hey!” Bull called from afar, a pout on his lips. “When is my turn?”

“With _me_? Probably never.” Dorian coldly replied, raising high his chin with distaste. “Go dance with Blackwall.”

“I don’t want to look at _those_ for the whole time.” the Warden grumbled, referring to Bull’s abs and bare, glistening chest. “I’ve seen enough scarring things in my life. I don’t want to add that to the list.”

“Why am I here?” Varric sighed, then glared at Harding, who was joking and talking amicably with Krem and the other Chargers. “Oh wait, I know. Damn Harding and her cheerful, stubborn ways.”

“My uncle tried to teach me how to dance once.” Cassandra’s eyes were looking at something far away and she was frowning, as if she was remembering something very bad and traumatizing. “Ugh. It didn’t go well.”

“I wonder why, Seeker- _ouch_!”

Solas tensed up when Loranil, still standing next to Lavellan, took her hand, bowed, and thanked her for the dance. His fingers lingered on her skin and he was about to lean before - _thankfully_ \- changing his mind; Lavellan gave him a lopsided, forced smile, stepping back to have the most distance possible between them.

“Let me know when you’d like to dance again, Inquisitor.” the young man said and Solas gritted his teeth. Was he so _blind_? Or was he just dense and didn’t care about her nervous stance and really believed he had a good chance?

“Of… of course. Thank you, Loranil.”

And then the boy did the unthinkable. He leaned forward, like it had always been his intention, and pressed a small, chaste kiss on her cheek. Lavellan recoiled, staring at him with horror, but Loranil mistook it for shyness and smiled at her, before _finally_ going away.

Whispers and glances increased in number and intensity. Everyone in that place - everyone in _all_ Skyhold, except for stupid, _dense_ Loranil - knew that the Inquisitor was together with the bald, elven apostate, the shabby expert of the Fade. Many turned to Solas to watch his reaction and they found what they expected to see: cold, barely controlled fury, knuckles white like snow, mouth and jaw clenched tightly, blue eyes drilling a hole into the young elf’s back.

The people in the tavern moved their eyes from Solas to Loranil and their looks became sympathetic and commiserative.

“He is dead.” Blackwall mumbled.

“Who wants to bet that the Dalish boy is gonna disappear mysteriously in the next twenty-four hours?” Bull whispered, watching the scene from above the brim of his mug.

“Somebody should tell him. Lavellan looked extremely uncomfortable.” Cassandra grumbled, then she slammed a hand on the table. “And why isn’t Solas dancing with her?? What is he thinking??”

“Murder, that’s what he is thinking.” Varric rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Seriously, he needs to step up his game. He needs to _dare_ more. I know the tavern isn’t exactly his favorite place in the world, but…”

“Why should he worry, though?” Bull grinned. “The boss loves him more than anything else in the world. That Dalish kid is no threat.”

“Love” Cassandra sighed with dreamy eyes, “can make you feel very jealous, Bull. It makes you see threats everywhere and-”

“Here she goes again…”

“Wait.” Blackwall intervened, looking around. “Where did Solas go?”

  
  
\- - -

  
  
He didn’t have to wait long. He had been watching the stars in the sky for just a few minutes when the door below opened and Lavellan climbed the stairs, almost running.

“Solas! Solas!”

“I’m here, _vhenan_.” he called from the balcony and she appeared, panting and disheveled.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I went in your room, in the rotunda, then…”

“Why?” he gestured at the table near the couch, where their meal had been placed just before his arrival. “We always eat dinner together here.”

“Yes, but…” she sighed, playing with her hands and looking down. “You left so abruptly. I thought…”

“What?” he raised an eyebrow, hands behind his back. “That what happened in the tavern bothered me?”

Lavellan opened her mouth to reply, then blushed and murmured: “I… I am sorry. I…”

“Because it did.”

In an instant, his arms were around her, strong and gentle, and he brushed his lips against her cheek, whispering with a hoarse, deep voice:

“I _hated_ that boy so much, my love, you cannot even imagine how much I hated him! I wanted to dance with you, to hold you in my arms, to laugh with you… And when he dared to kiss your face, I…” He growled and Lavellan whimpered. “I lost my mind.”

He slightly pulled away to look at her and gasped.

“Your eyes are red. Did you _cry_?”

“I thought…” Lavellan babbled, clinging to his sweater. “I thought that you were angry at me and I panicked and…!”

“Why would I be angry at you, silly woman?” Solas pressed soft kisses all over her face. “How _could_ I ever be angry at you?”

“I… I don’t know!” she exclaimed, frustrated because she didn’t know how to explain it. “I was so angry at myself, because I should have told him I didn’t want to dance with him, that I wanted to do it with you!” She thumped her forehead against Solas’ shoulder, grumbling: “I should have kicked him in the balls when he got so close.”

Solas chuckled and made her raise her head to kiss her. He got serious again and caressed her face.

“It was not your fault, _vhenan_. Loranil assumed that you were with nobody and that you would have accepted his advances. He didn’t recognize the signs.”

“Why do people always assume stuff about me?” she snarled. “And how can he be so blind? Every soul in Skyhold knows I am with you!”

“Some people see less than others.”

“I will talk with him. I will tell him that I am with you, that I didn’t appreciate what he did, that he must never do something like that again. He thought I liked it, but…” she looked at Solas with big, wet eyes and he felt his heart clench painfully at the sight. “It only made me feel wretched, dirty, and so, so _guilty_.”

“My heart.” he brushed her hair with his long fingers, fixing the locks sticking out in all directions. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling, and tears fell down her eyelashes.

“I am so sorry, Solas.” she said softly. “I didn’t want him to disrespect you.”

“Disrespect _me_?” he shook his head with disbelief. “That is why you felt guilty? Because you thought I had been treated badly?”

“Well, _yes_.” she looked surprise and confused now. “Even if he didn’t do it on purpose, he caused you pain.”

Solas didn’t answer, observing her with so much intensity and adoration she became nervous again and tried to calm down by playing with the jawbone around his neck.

“ _Vhenan_.” he murmured and she looked up at him, smiling and cupping his cheek.

“Come.” he said, kissing her palm. “Dance with me.”

They went back into the room and he took the lute resting against the bookcase; he drew a glyph on it with his fingers and the chords started moving by themselves, playing a simple tune.

“It is not the _waltz_ from before, not exactly, but it is good enough.”

Lavellan had stared at him for the whole time, fidgeting and standing awkwardly near the fireplace. When she saw him go at the center of the room, she snapped back to reality and took off her boots.

As his right hand rested on her back, she relaxed and followed his lead, looking down at their feet to avoid stepping on him.

“No, no, _vhenan_.” he kissed her forehead. “Look at me.”

She did and her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, in the waking world and the Fade alike.

“Listen to the music.” he whispered, leaning in, his face close to hers. “And let your body translates it into a dance. Now, twirl.”

Her steps were still uncertain, but she was so content in his arms and his voice and kind words helped her concentrate better. After three rounds, she had already learned the main moves.

She stumbled only once and Solas immediately caught her and held her against his chest, chuckling. He brushed his nose against hers and she laughed.

“Sorry.” she said breathlessly, her eyes lost into his. “I… I can’t get this part right.”

“You will.” he smirked. “We only need to practice more.”

“You are so good at this! Did you learn how to dance in the Fade?” she looked at their feet only for a second, before focusing back on him, her expression full of wonder like when she had discovered how good at dancing Cole was. “Do you know other dances too?”

Solas smiled, the look in his eyes soft and loving.

“I saw a particularly beautiful one, once. It’s from ancient Arlathan.”

He waved his hand at the lute and the tune changed, becoming faster, tender, more romantic and full of joy.

“The instrument is not the right one, but it will do fine.”

He took both her hands and guided her, telling her how to move her feet; she immediately understood the dance, because it was elven and similar to the Dalish ones she was used to dancing in her clan. He showed her how the most difficult moves had to be made, taking her by the arm and dancing in circle, forehead against forehead. Then he twirled her and bowed, motioning her to do the same; after she did, he twirled her around again and they both laughed as she fell back into his arms, right at the end of the music.

His hands on her waist, he pulled her close and brushed his lips against hers, not quite kissing her. He was teasing her, smirking, and she giggled, squirming in his gentle grip. The sound made him growl playfully and he fully pressed their mouths together; she cradled his face in her lithe hands and moaned softly.

“What…” she panted after breaking the kiss. “What dance was that?”

He stared at her for a long time, eyes kind and so, so sweet; he raised a hand to her face and answered in a whisper:

“A dance of love.”

He smiled and he knew it was a bittersweet, melancholic thing, but she understood - she _always_ did - and didn’t comment on it.

“Many couples in Arlathan used to dance like this to show their deep, eternal bond.” He kissed her a second time and murmured: “ _Ar lath, ma vhenan_.”

The truth punctually came back, pushing on his throat, fighting to escape and be revealed; they were alone, the room was dark except for the dim light coming from the fireplace.

The place was the right one, but the time was _not_ , because he had just danced a marriage dance with her and he didn’t want to ruin that moment, that memory, those blissful minutes during which he had felt married and forever bonded to her.

He had seen those dances from afar during his youth; they were bright and luminous, with magic swirling around the bride and the groom, and he had always wondered what the couple was feeling, what flowed into their hearts during the climax of the dance.

And he believed he had felt it now, millennia after seeing those scenes from behind trees and crystal spires. He had felt supreme, perfect love and he didn’t want to ruin it with the horrible, bitter truth waiting impatiently in his mouth.

The Wolf was selfish and it whined, asking for more time, for more peace and bliss.

_Not yet, not yet._

Then he saw her face. She was smiling, a goddess with bright, shining eyes, love radiating from every fiber of her being. He could almost feel it tingle on his skin and he froze.

_‘Not now! Not when you don’t know the truth! I don’t deserve it!’_

She opened her mouth, ready to say those words that had burned within her for so long, but he stopped her with another kiss, a desperate, hungry kiss that left her breathless.

“ _Vhenan_.” he called, stepping back towards the bed, taking her with him. He waved his hand and extinguished the fire. Darkness engulfed the room like a blanket and Lavellan gasped as his mouth found the tender skin of her neck.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said again, the back of his legs hitting the bed. “Let me make love to you.”

He cherished and worshipped every part of her soul and body; he listened to every gasp, to every moan, to his name falling from her lips, repeated like a prayer; he moaned and leaned into her touch, whispering elven endearments in her ear, praising her and smiling when she giggled or whimpered happily.

She made love to him too. She told him how beautiful and kind he was, how lucky she was to be with him, how much she wanted the world to see his beauty; she _thanked_ him, breathy and sweet, her smile blinding, and Solas came with a sob, filling her, his face pressed against her shoulder. She clung to him and came as well, calling his name, and he raised his head, cupped her face, and moaned against her mouth:

“ _Ara’asha, ara’asha, ara’asha…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Project Elvhen by FenxShiral:
> 
> \- Ara’asha: Wife/girlfriend. Lit. my woman. In this case it’s used as “wife”.  
> \- Ara’isha: Husband/boyfriend. Lit. my man. In this case it’s used as “husband”.
> 
> These chapters are getting ENDLESS. I could do this forever ;_;
> 
> This time I focused more on Solas and what is going on inside his angsty, self-deprecating mind. The companions are slowly getting more space and they will have a huge influence later, since the party is going to be one hell of a ride. I won’t describe the main missions (Adamant, the Fade, etc.) with many details, but their consequences will be portrayed accordingly. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter and please forgive me for any typos!
> 
> Also: [Commission](http://hoskky.tumblr.com/post/121856983592/commission-for-lafaiette-of-her-inquisitor-scarlet) I received from the awesome [hoskky](http://hoskky.tumblr.com/) depicting a scene similar to the one in the fic


	5. Chapter 5

Solas opened his eyes with a low moan, awakened by the sunlight entering from the tall windows.

He blinked, then his lips curled into a drowsy smile: Lavellan’s face was just right in front of him, bright, gentle eyes observing him with love.

Waking up had never been sweeter.

“Hello.” he said, his voice deep and raucous, and stroked her back, rubbing his legs against hers under the sheets. She kissed his chin, the palms of her hands pressed flat on his shoulders, dainty fingers caressing his skin in slow, comforting moves.

“Good morning, _ma sa’lath_.” she nuzzled his face and inhaled his scent, her lips slightly humid against his cheek.

Solas kept smiling and looking at her, until he noticed something odd, something he had seen the night before too.

He blinked, frowning, and Lavellan immediately looked away, at the muscles of his neck, at the pale skin marked with small scars and thin lines caused by a life in the wilderness, just like hers.

“My love.” Solas said, gently lifting her head with two fingers under her chin. “You cried again.”

Her eyes were red and puffy, heavy bags under them that showed how little and badly she had slept.

“You cried _all night_?” he gasped, cursing himself for not having heard her. “ _Vhenan_ , why?”

“No, I…!” she let out a shaky sigh, rubbing her face against his neck, and Solas let her, waiting patiently for her to continue and explain. “I couldn’t help but think about what happened in the tavern.”

“My heart, do not worry yourself over such petty things.” Solas slid his hands up and down her back and was about to kiss her and reassure her that everything was fine, when she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, watching the sun and clear sky behind the windows.

“It’s been my fault too.” she said with a small, cracking voice. “You asked me to dance first, not Loranil. I should have refused his offer and danced with you instead.” She rubbed her eyes to dry away the returning tears and exhaled slowly.

“You did the right thing.” Solas sat up to and put an arm around her shaking shoulders. “You are the Inquisitor and there are duties that someone of your status possesses. What you did yesterday was kind and considerate, a… sacrifice that only a good leader would have made.” He turned her head and smiled, hoping to lift her spirit too. “Even if you did not want to, you danced with a member of your organization to avoid him embarrassment and mortification. It was a nice gesture and I am proud of you, _vhenan_.”

“Yes, but…” she went back to look at her feet, at the colored blanket they had almost pushed out of the bed during the night. Then she frowned, still angry at herself, and turned back to him, fire in her eyes mixed with tears.

“I caused you pain. I caused you to feel isolated and ignored and…”

Solas laughed, interrupting her next words with a kiss. Lavellan tried to keep speaking, then gave up and melted into his embrace, opening with mouth eagerly, until they ran out of breath and broke the kiss.

“Solas…”

“I did not feel isolated. Nor ignored.” he brushed back her unruly hair, satisfaction and joy blooming in him at the sight of the hickey on her neck, and continued: “I felt _jealous_ , but only because that boy would not stop touching you in that infuriating way. _You_ did not cause me pain.”

“But…!”

“And” he leaned in, closing the short distance between them, a tender, grateful smile on his lips, “you do not need to feel guilty, my love. In fact, I should not even be jealous. After all, I am the one who can kiss you every day, am I not?”

Lavellan finally smiled back and he grinned.

“And I am the one who is able to spend lunch and dinner with you on my lap, the one who can listen to your sweet words of love, the one who can bask in your presence and beautiful spirit, see your smile, and call you _vhenan_.” He touched the purple mark on her neck, making her gasp, and whispered, his mouth just a few inches far from hers: “The one who makes you come in my arms every night.”

“The _only_ one.” Lavellan added, her smile soft, her eyes full of adoration, so much Solas felt overwhelmed and could only grin more, elated like never before.

“See? No need to worry about it. You made that boy happy and in the end we did dance together.” he kissed her forehead and sighed with fondness: “Although I cannot guarantee my jealousy will stop any soon, my love. I am terribly selfish and when I see how other men look at you, I…”

“I want only you, Solas.” Lavellan said, cupping his cheek, and much to his horror tears came back in her eyes. “That’s why I was so worried! I feared… I feared you thought that I had preferred Loranil’s company to yours or that I…”

Solas laughed again, shaking his head, and wiped away her tears, stroking the soft skin under her eyes, feeling the wet _vallaslin_ rub against his fingertips.

“I could never think that, _vhenan_.” he said and kept stroking her cheeks until she finally looked at him. He smiled and continued: “I could never doubt your love. It shines so brightly in your eyes every time we look at each other and I could _never_ think you are interested in someone else.”

He took her hands in his and squeezed her fingers before entwining them with his own. His expression turned softer when he said: “And I am so much grateful for it, _vhenan_.”

She looked at their joined hands and smiled again, the sight a balm for Solas’ soul. But then the smile faded and she turned back to the windows, to watch the sun hit the frosted glass and make colored shapes on the floor.

“You are right.” she said. “There are duties I can’t ignore and obligations towards the people who help me and this organization. I owe them much.”

She sighed, a hand in her hair, small fingers tousling the long locks, and her eyes were so distant, so worried, and tired, Solas couldn’t help but lean forward and press a kiss on her temple.

“I know there are also those who expect much from me.” she suddenly added. “The nobles expect me to accept their marriage proposals or help them with their problems. The ambassadors expect me to listen to their requests and help the organizations or territories they represent, ignoring all the rest. The Dalish expect me to do the same, to help only the People, and I do want to help them, I want that _so much_ , but how can I do it when there is so much wrong in this world, when all Thedas needs help? I can’t ignore those in needs.”

She looked at the mark on her left hand and Solas tensed up, the bitter feeling of guilt flowing into him like poison.

“I did not choose to become Inquisitor. I didn’t ask for the Anchor, but I have it now and it’s my duty to protect everyone.” she seemed to feel better and rested her head on Solas’ shoulder, smiling up at him. “I told you in the Dalish camp, didn’t I? I will do my best to make sure Corypheus and his allies won’t win this war. I won’t let them hurt people anymore.”

Solas observed her with pride and love, a look so intense that she snorted, her face all red, and moved her eyes down. She noticed they were completely naked and instinctively pulled back her legs and pressed her body against Solas’, hugging it.

“I just…” she murmured, her voice soft like the air outside, like her hair falling on her shoulders, like the baby she had held the day before in her arms. “Sometimes I’d like to have more _freedom_. To have more time for other things, for those things that I consider important and precious even if the rest of the world does not.” She looked at him again, her brow furrowed in a small frown. “Yesterday, you said my duties are more important than you, but that’s not true. Not for me. And…”a pause, then she continued: “Before leaving for the Exalted Plains, I had promised Cole I would have helped him build a shelter for the rabbits, but I couldn’t do it. When I returned, I had to spend the whole day writing replies to stupid _shemlen_ asking for my hand in marriage.”

Solas kissed her forehead, hoping to ease her frown.

“I am sure Cole didn’t mind.”

“No, he never does. He is such a sweet boy.” Lavellan let out a small sigh. “I’d just like to have more time for my friends, for their problems, and… for you.”

She raised her head, her eyes big and wet, and Solas descended on her, kissing her with all his strength, giving her all he could, hoping to melt her worries and fears away. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with enthusiasm, lively and young, giving him warmth and life in return.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said giving one last playful bite to her lips. “You already give me more time and attention than I deserve. And what you did yesterday is the proof that you are an attentive and selfless leader. We are all lucky to have you.”

He tucked her head under his chin and brushed her hair, touching it with soothing caresses.

“ _I_ am lucky to have you. More than I can express. And I understand your new responsibilities are heavy and frightening, that you miss the customs and simplicity of your Dalish life, but do not fear. We are all here for you and nobody will ever judge you if you decide to take a break to relax or focus your mind on much needed light thoughts. You do not have to do everything by yourself and you can let yourself go when the nostalgia is too strong.” He tilted his head to look at her and smiled, hope in his heart, a kind of hope that he couldn’t renounce to. “And remember: this war won’t last forever.”

She snuggled against him, her small frame perfectly locked with his slender one, and said with a timid, but grateful and touched tone: “You are too good to me, Solas.”

He swallowed the bitterness building in his throat, the guilt and self-hatred haunting him without pause. He pressed his lips on the top of her head, closing his eyes, and listened to her as she continued: “I am sorry. I ruined our morning.” He felt her move, but didn’t let her go, tightening his embrace.

“You ruined nothing, my light.” he said.

_Not you, sweetest one, not you._

“I watched you sleep and you were so beautiful and I felt so stupid and bad and guilty and I started crying and…” she groaned, rubbing her eyes to finally dry them completely, and when she looked back at him they were even redder and puffier. Solas chuckled and passed a hand above them, using healing magic to give her comfort and soothe the stinging feeling she was undoubtedly having.

“I am sorry.” she murmured and Solas did something he had never done before: he took her ear and playfully tugged at it, making her squeal in surprise.

“Hush, silly woman.” he smirked. “Stop thinking about what happened in that tavern and go back to sleep. It is still early and I don’t want you to feel tired.”

“There is going to be another practice session tonight.” she was smiling again, this time a full smile that lightened her eyes and put two adorable dimples on her face, and Solas sighed happily at the sight. Her cheeks became redder as she asked: “Would… would you like to come with me and practice together?”

“In front of everyone?” Solas pushed her down on the bed, basking in her giggles, and kissed her collarbone, his hands squeezing her sides. “With all those people watching us?”

“Yes.” she laughed, gasping as his tongue licked the hickey on her neck.

“With the minstrel and Zither who will make songs about the Inquisitor and her elven apostate lover?”

He bit her earlobe and she squirmed in his arms, cradling his bald head and raking her short nails down it, making him hum.

“Yes.” she repeated, now fully laughing, and Solas grinned. “And we will sing them and write them in the annals of Skyhold.”

“An interesting document for the posterity.” he chuckled, peppering her face with kisses, and Lavellan chased his mouth, her happy laughter echoing in the room and making him feel light, free, devoid of any worry or fear, the sense of doom and guilt in his soul temporarily and blissfully gone.

“Let us go then.” he said, before giving her a final, deep kiss which she prolonged until they were left breathless.

“I will try not to step on you.” she giggled, hugging him, and Solas nuzzled her cheek, a hand on her back, massaging the tense muscles there.

“We cannot possibly hope to feel good enough to dance if we are not well rested, though.” he said and, framing her face in his long, calloused fingers, smiled at her and whispered: “Sleep, _vhenan_. Close your eyes and let your mind be at peace.”

She laid back on the pillow, still hugging him tightly, and observed him with a smile, heavy, red eyes finally dry and content.

“Thank you, Solas.” she said and he moved to kiss her again and fall asleep with her, but she spoke before he could do that: “For everything. For your advices, for your words, for your love and… for what you said last night.”

He remembered it - he remembered every single one of their nights together, how could he forget such perfection and joy? - and blushed, aware of how important what he had said had been, the meaning it carried, the implications behind that word.

He tried to reply, but he found himself flustered and excited like a child and Lavellan’s smile broadened, she pecked his nose, and concluded to avoid embarrassing him: “You are right, we should sleep.” She tucked her face again into his neck and breathed him in. “Will you visit me in the Fade?”

A kiss on her head, then: “Always, _vhenan_.”

  
 

\- - -

   
  


They fell asleep together, nestled into each other, and he shaped a beautiful and relaxing dream for her, a lush forest where they and the wildlife were the only inhabitants. He watched her look around with an awed smile, wearing the golden dress he had imagined her in while she was dancing in the tavern; she noticed her different clothes and stood there awkwardly, not used to that kind of rich and special attire.

“Is this… from ancient Arlathan?” she asked, skimming her fingers through the folds of the dress with care.

Solas approached her and stroked her cheek, a tender smile on his lips.

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“It’s very beautiful.” she smiled, then she laughed, widening the bottom of it to see how large it was. “I have never seen something like this before!”

She raised her eyes and gasped: Solas’ clothes were different too, green and brown robes that complimented his broad shoulders and toned legs. His chest swelled when she touched the gorgeous fabric of his shirt and admired the intricate patterns on it; he clasped his hands behind his back, an usual pose for him, and cleared his throat, enjoying her attention and surprise.

“Dorian is right. Sometimes a change of attire can be… satisfying. I admit I like this style.”

Lavellan stared at him in awe, mouth slightly open, her eyes observing him with shyness mixed with excitement; then she raised herself on her tip-toes to press a kiss on his lips, her hands pressed delicately on his chest, as if she didn’t want to ruin his shirt by touching it too much. Even there in the Fade, she tasted delicious and Solas licked his mouth.

“Silly.” she said, blushing when she saw the gesture. “You would be beautiful even in one of those puffy Orlesian clothes with lace and ribbons.”

He made a funny face, not even daring to imagine himself in that, and took her hand, ready to show her the dream he had created only for her.

“I assure you, _vhenan_ , the chances of seeing me wear something like that are extremely low.” he said as she giggled and thumped him with her shoulder. “And I doubt I would be as handsome as you say.”

“That’s not true.” Lavellan’s smile made his ears become hot and red again. “You are always handsome, no matter what.”

He tugged at her hand, making her stumble, and caught her in his arms, like he had done the night before during their dance.

“I should be the one complimenting you.” he murmured, a hand moving along her back, slipping into her dress. Lavellan brought her hands to the collar of his shirt, fixing it, and the gesture made his heart ache, because it was domestic, sweet, loving, thoughtful.

“Then do it.” she murmured, looking up at him from under her eyelashes with a smirk, and he grinned.

“How? You are stealing all my lines, _vhenan_.”

“You are clever. I am sure you will find new, romantic ones. Perhaps something in elven…?”

She raised her eyebrows, watching him expectantly, and he pressed his mouth against her ear, ready to speak gentle words of love and praise. But she surprised him, turning quickly her head to steal a kiss, then ran away, towards a river flowing not far away.

“But first catch me!”

He stood there, dumbfounded, his arms still raised in the space where she had been just few seconds before; she giggled and said, not even needing to raise her voice as the Fade carried it effortlessly: “If you catch me, I will let you say all the things you want, without stealing one line!”

Solas grinned and started walking towards her without hurry, hands clasped behind his back again. The Fade was his realm, his kingdom, and the Wolf howled with joy and anticipation. He wanted to play with her, to forget about the orb and Corypheus and the world, and focus entirely on her; he wanted to make _her_ forget about her responsibilities, even if just for a while. He loved seeing her so happy, carefree, filled with life and _love_ , and there, in the Fade, they were free from their obligations and duties.

“All the things that I want? Even the ones that make you blush so adorably?” he asked, his steps measured, controlled, absolutely calm. She was retreating, bright like the sun, radiant in her golden dress which framed her lithe body like a halo of light. He could see her red cheeks, her smile, the way she both longed to run to him and keep playing their innocent game.

“Yes, even those!” she responded, still stepping back; she had reached the river, but she didn’t touch the water, preferring to stay on the bank, where shining, humid pebbles were.

“And will you look at me as I say them to you?” Solas proceeded, his smile broadening. He saw her feet twitch, ready to move as soon as he got near enough; her whole stance was tense, the one of a huntress like she was, and he stopped, straightening his pose.

“I will try.” she promised, then she mimicked his position, chin high, and stared at him with amusement and a bit of playful smugness.

He knew what she was going to do: jump across the river, then run across the verdant field that lied just ahead, a queen dressed in gold and sunlight. He couldn’t help the grin growing on his face, his body thrumming, tense, every muscle screaming in tension. He breathed in the crisp air his dreaming mind had conjured and bolted forward; the river disappeared, replaced by the wall of an elven ruin, blocking her path.

But she surprised him. With a triumphant laugh, she jumped on her right, dodging him easily, and Solas almost crashed against the wall he had created. Before he could realize what was happening, she tackled him and he fell on the ground, with her on top.

“Got you!”

He looked up at her and his face must have been hilarious, because she burst into another laughter that echoed beautifully in the forest; she leaned down to kiss him, still laughing, and her fingers tickled his jaw and ears.

“I…” he croaked out when she pulled away. “I was not expecting you to do that, I admit it.”

She grinned down at him and he smiled, sliding a hand up her thigh and adding: “You continue to surprise me.”

Her expression softened and she traced the patterns on his shirt, following them with her fingertips until she arrived to his neck. There, she fixed his collar again and plucked some flowers from the ground, near Solas’ face.

“Green suits you so much.” she murmured, putting one flower behind his ear, another inside the collar, a third one on his shoulder. A laugh bubbled up inside her and she let it out, continuing to decorate his shirt and his head with flower.

“Although any color does. You would look good in anything.”

She was looking at him again, hair falling down her shoulders and framing her face; the sunlight shining through the leaves above her hit her back, illuminating her and making her glow, and Solas’ breath hitched in his throat. He slid his other hand along her leg, he played with the folds of her dress, his eyes lost into hers, and he desired with all his might to stay there forever, to live that dream for all eternity.

Then another thought came, a fleeting idea that was so intriguing, so beautiful, so _perfect_ …

The idea of making that desire a reality, to live that life in the waking world, to really forget about everything else and stay with her after the war, to abandon his duty and…

The implications behind that desire were not lost to him and fear, shock, and even a sense of rebellion - _he wanted it, he wanted her and that life together so much!_ \- filled and upset him deeply.

But as he looked at her, any bad feelings went away, replaced by inner peace and love and he didn’t need anything else to survive, to keep living in that world so different, so twisted, and yet so similar to the one he had known. Just her love for him and his own for her, he needed nothing else.

She kept putting flower on his head and inside his shirt, decorating it with splotches of vivid colors and shapes; her eyes often moved to his face, only to dart back to his chest when she saw he was looking at her, a blush creeping up her face and ears, her smile sweet and full of wonder. She was at peace too, mesmerized by the place, by the beauty and tranquility of it, by their current look that was undoubtedly something new to her, by the feelings lingering in the air, surrounding them.

Solas wondered if he still looked like a god to her, like she had said in the Dalish camp, and brought a hand up her waist.

“Are you making me pretty, _arasha_?”

“You always are.” she whispered, bending down to kiss him again and slip another little flower behind his ear.

“Sweet talker.”

She giggled and did what he often did to her: she tapped his nose and the gesture made Solas laugh and blush. He pulled her down, hands on her waist, and she fell on him, her head resting on his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her, keeping her there on him, and she accepted the new position, breathing deeply the fresh, clean air of the dream.

“You are so very beautiful too, _vhenan_.” he said, kissing her hair, and felt her smile and rub her cheek against his shirt. He lifted her head with a finger under her chin and whispered the elven words of endearment he had started to say earlier before; as he had expected, she scoffed and looked away, her lips still curled into that sweet smile.

“Now, now. Let me see you.” he cooed, trying to look at her in the eye, grinning, but she squirmed and laughed and in the end she managed to successfully hide her face.

“You didn’t catch me.” she reminded him, mumbling against his robes, and Solas chuckled, one hand slipping again into her dress from the back of it.

“Only because you tricked me.”

She gasped, pretending to be offended, and raised her head to stare at him with disbelief.

“I did not!” she exclaimed, not able to keep her angry façade for long. In fact she laughed again and Solas grinned, his fingers drawing circles and random shapes on her waist.

“It’s not my fault you are naïve and couldn’t predict my move.” she smiled smugly, pecking his lips, and Solas growled playfully, squeezing her sides.

“That is not the word I would use to describe myself.”

“You are right.” she sat up, still straddling him, and he whined, disappointed by the lack of contact. “ _Adorable_ is the most fitting one.”

He gave her a pointed look, shaking his head, a corner of his mouth raised, and she giggled, her hands playing with the flowers that were now part of his look.

“Since I won our race,” she continued, ignoring Solas’ scoff, “I guess I will tell you all the cute, sweet things that I want.”

“I am not going to blush that easily, _vhenan_.” he lied and she knew he was, because she laughed and propped herself on one elbow, resting her face on one hand and poking his cheeks with the other one.

“You are doing it now.” she said and yelped in surprise and mirth when he tried to bite her finger.

“Perhaps.” he admitted, eyes fixated on her smiling, joyous, flushed face. “But you already told me many beautiful things, my love. You told me I am handsome, that any kind of clothes looks particularly good on me, and you remind me every day of my kindness and good heart, although I fail to see all these good qualities.”

“Solas!”

She looked worried and sad, now, and he hurried to say, wishing to see her smile again: “Of course I appreciate your words greatly! Hearing them makes me feel… less bad and infinitely more loved.” He smiled warmly and she relaxed as he concluded: “Do not fear. I will always take them seriously.”

He grasped a lock of her hair and tugged at it without too much force, now with a roguish smirk on his lips, and asked with all the innocence in the world: “So, what are you going to tell me now?”

She hesitated, touching absentmindedly the flowers inside his collar, and his blood turned into ice. Was she going to say _those_ words to him, to express that sentiment that had burned into her for so long? He knew she wanted to and he felt like a fool. He couldn’t bear the thought of hearing them now, when she didn’t know who he was, when she didn’t know who she was giving her love to.

“I…” she started and he desperately tried to find a way to interrupt her without hurting her feelings. He couldn’t find one and his mind came up with nothing to say.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a long time, actually.” she smiled at him and his mouth went dry, his fear and guilt affecting him and his body even there in the Fade. His turmoil started to change the forest around them, albeit imperceptibly. _He_ felt it, though, he could sense any change in the Fade and his dreams, but kept quiet and still as she continued: “It’s… it’s something that I told you before, but only indirectly. I haven’t pronounced the exact words yet.”

“ _Vhenan_ …”

“But I don’t want to say them here. Not because this is less real! It’s just…” she picked another flower near his neck and twirled it between two fingers. She looked timid, a bit scared and anxious, and Solas rested a hand on the nape of her neck, warm and comforting.

She looked up at him, then, and smiled.

“I want the moment to be perfect. I thought I had found the right time before, but we always ended up being interrupted and… and I want it to be really _good_ , in the waking world where spirits will be able to witness it and reproduce it here in the Fade. So it will… eternal, in a certain sense.” she cleared her throat, embarrassed, and looked back at the flower in her hand. Solas quietly took it, brushed it against her nose, then put it in her hair.

“Will you wait for it? For me to say it?” she asked, eyes big with wonder and anxiety, and he smiled, caressing her cheek with his fingers, his heart aching because he wanted to hear it _now_ and at the same time he didn’t, because he didn’t deserve it.

“Of course, _vhenan_. All the time necessary.”

She grinned happily and threw her arms around him, pushing him even further on the ground, and he laughed with her, even though he felt torn between relief and longing, wistfulness and heart-wrenching guilt.

In the end, though, she always managed to make him feel better, to ease his pain and worries just with her presence; she was the light that fended off the darkness and regret in his heart and that was one of the many reasons he couldn’t bear to hear her tell those words to him.

Not when she didn’t know the truth yet.

“Thank you!” she said, then kissed him, and stared into his eyes, her own sparkling in the sunlight, and he felt at home, safe, content, lost into the perfection that her smile and spirit were.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said, kissing her and lulling her in his arms. “You do not have to thank me. I am the one who should thank you.”

She kissed his chest, right above his heart, and said softly: “Hush, you silly.” Then she raised her head to look at him and smiled: “Can you tell me a story?”

“A story?”

“Yes!” She looked around, at the forest around them, now more beautiful and magnificent than ever. “For example, a story about this place! Or about one of the ancient memories you found in the past.”

He smiled in return and made her rest on his chest again.

“Let’s see…” he murmured, playing with her hair and putting flowers in it like she had done with his shirt, and then he started, telling her of all the best memories he had seen in his journeys, even adding part of his personal experience, now so far and lost into time.

Time didn’t exist in the Fade and the moments of bliss they spent in that dream seemed eternal, forever lasting. Like the life he so wanted to have with her.

   
  


\- - -

   
  


The first thing Lavellan did once they woke up was kissing Solas until they were both out of breath, getting up with enthusiasm - mixed with a great dose of hurry, because they were late - and putting on the usual outfit, while looking at him from the corner of her eye.

She blushed - like she always did when she saw his beautiful body naked and bare - and an idea formed in her mind. She had already thought about it in the Fade, in that beautiful dream Solas had brought her in, but now, in the waking world, it gained a better, complete shape and she already knew what to do.

She smiled, already looking forward to starting, to seeing the look on Solas’ face, and she gasped when she felt his hands on her hips, pulling her against his bare chest.

“Good.” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver pleasantly. “You are smiling.”

He kissed her lobe and she giggled, ticklish; he laughed with her, going lower to nip at her neck.

“Thank you for that dream. It was gorgeous.” she said, caressing one of his hands with hers, and he smiled against her skin.

“Thank you for letting me show it to you. I had the most pleasant of nights.” he gave her another small, playful bite, then made her turn so that he could look at her. His gaze was soft and attentive, looking for something on her face.

“Are you feeling better, my heart?”

Her answer was a sweet kiss which he accepted with a chuckle and a soft caress on her cheek.

She wrote a short note to thank the kitchen staff that had prepared the food they had completely ignored the night before, leaving it on the trail that had been left on the little table. Then, forgetting about her disastrous hair, she took Solas’ hand and they almost ran out of the room, laughing all the way to the main hall, already imagining Josephine’s face and her kind, but firm scolding.

They were so late they didn’t even have time to eat breakfast, but Solas made her promise again that she would eat. With another final kiss - in front of all the guests and nobles, but she couldn’t care less -, they parted ways, already missing each other, already impatient and waiting for the hours to pass quickly so that they could be reunited at lunch.

As she went to Josephine for the morning news and duties, Lavellan felt the stares of the guests and merchants, the giggles and happy looks of the servants, the morbid curiosity and boredom of the harshest and less open-minded nobles. She kept her head high, her steps sure and confident. She was the Inquisitor and those who didn’t like her choices in personal matters could go to the blasted Void… especially if they judged Solas and their love for each other.

She opened the door of Josephine’s studio and smiled at her sheepishly when the ambassador gave her a fond, but exasperated look.

“Forgive me, Josephine. I know it’s late. I had…”

“A long night, I imagine.” the other woman said flatly, before bursting into a kind laughter upon seeing the look on Lavellan’s face. “I am joking, mistress Lavellan! Don’t worry. We all need rest and… relax.”

Her expression turned serious and a bit worried as she took some letters from her desk.

“I fear you received other offers, my lady.” she said, clearing her voice. Lavellan sighed, already dreading what was inside those envelopes, but Josephine’s next words made her feel much better: “There is also a letter from your clan, though! Let me know if we can help in any way.”

“From my clan?” Lavellan ignored the pink, green, and blue envelopes with elegant handwriting and intricate seals to focus entirely on the simplest one. She immediately recognized Keeper Deshanna’s handwriting and smiled. She hadn’t had news from her family and friends in a while, although she always made sure to send quick messages with useful herbs, items, and information attached to them. She had received brief messages in return, always full of affection and interest, but she knew they had been busy as much as her.

“Do you want to write replies to those proposals together, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked, but Lavellan shook her head, knowing how much the poor woman was busy… plus she had promised Dorian to read that stuff together.

“No, thank you, Josephine. I can take care of them now.”

“Good.” the ambassador grinned. “Make them cower in fear, Inquisitor.”

“Will do.” Lavellan laughed, then she looked down at the colored letters in her hands, starting: “Also… Josephine, could it be possible to bring a mannequin up to my quarters?”

Josephine blinked at her, her quill held still in the air.

“A mannequin, Your Worship?”

“Yes. I need to sew something.”

“Inquisitor, if it is for the party, you don’t need to do it by yourself! We can call tailors, seamstresses and…”

“Oh no, no! It’s not for me, I…” Lavellan smiled, her cheeks red again, and explained: “I want to make something for Solas. A gift.”

“Oh! Oh, of course!” Josephine’s face now was very similar to Cassandra’s when she read her beloved books or talked about them. “That’s such a lovely idea! I will ask a servant to bring all the necessary up in your rooms, then. With all the discretion possible. Do you need a particular fabric too?”

“I will take care of that. Thank you, Josephine.”

The ambassador winked at her as Lavellan headed out, her morning already brightened.

She considered passing through the rotunda to go to Dorian, but Solas would have noticed the letters and the last thing she wanted was to upset him. She still remembered too well his grim face when he had read the first marriage proposal.

She passed through the other door and went up the stairs, reached the second level, and went straight to Dorian, careful not to be seen by Solas, who would have wondered why she hadn’t gone to him first.

The Altus smiled at her from his chair, the _Tale of the Champion_ in his hand, a glass of wine in the other. He looked relaxed and content, even more so when Lavellan returned the smile and approached him in his nook.

“Ah, here is my ray of sun! Come on, sit.” he nodded at the chair in front of his and she gladly sat down, placing the letters on her lap. He saw them immediately and a dangerous, mischievous, but also angry light appeared in his eyes.

“What are those, my friend?” he asked, placing the glass of wine on a wobbly pile of books.

“Other letters from my suitors, I fear.” Lavellan sighed, lowering her voice so that Solas couldn’t hear. She doubted he could, due to the small conversations going on around them, the crows squawking loudly up above and Leliana barking orders at her scouts, but she wanted to be sure and avoid him any more worries.

Dorian cursed under his breath, put away the book too, and extended a hand, waiting impatiently for the first envelope.

“Let me read their disastrous attempts at wooing you.” he tore up the paper and took out the first page, scrunching his nose at the sweet smell it emanated. “ _Ew_. Lavender. So tacky.”

“You come up with good replies to those while I read this from my clan.” Lavellan laughed, hurrying to open the missive from Keeper Deshanna. Dorian lightened up, happy to hear her family had written… and that he had the permission to write snarky answers to pompous Orlesian nobles.

“Can I add some elegant, but effective curses too? I learned some while…”

Lavellan glared at him from behind the simple piece of paper.

“No.”

“Metaphors, then! I could compare their dicks to-”

“ _Dorian!_ ”

“To me?” he blinked, pretending to be surprised, then grinned. “Well, I admit I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, but…”

“Stop it.” she huffed, kicking his leg. “As Inquisitor, I order you to read that terrible stuff and help me write a good reply to it. Without being vulgar!”

“But they _are_ vulgar!” Dorian whined, pouting like a child. “Look at this idiot! This chevalier wants to ‘spend a lovely evening with you in his garden at Val Royeaux, looking at the stars, and talk with you about politics’.”

He grimaced, as if he had tasted something sour or not expensive enough. “Heh. I think I know what garden he really wants to visit.”

Lavellan blushed terribly, not used to that kind of conversation and thoughts. She wondered if those nobles were so vulgar and lewd just because she was an elf, someone they considered “easy” to bed, or if they were like that in every courting, in every occasion where flirting was necessary. Her lessons with Josephine and Cassandra about the human politics had not reached those subjects yet and she doubted they would ever discuss them… unless things got worse.

The fact that she had no idea what those men wanted from her was even worse. Dorian kept reading passages or parts of the text that made no sense to her, subtle - and not subtle _at all_ \- allusions at sex, innuendos that she couldn’t comprehend for the life of her. Dorian seemed shocked, repelled, offended on her behalf, and she felt mad at those nobles for the second time, but also confused and lost.

She knew what they were saying and offering was offensive and not tactful - only a few of those suitors actually followed rules and used phrases she could understand and even bear with -, but the others described veiled things that she had never heard of before.

She was so busy listening to Dorian that she forgot about the letter from home still on her lap.

The human groaned, passing a hand over his face in a desperate, disgusted gesture.

“Maker’s breath, what is this?”

“What… what does it say?”

“What does it _not_ say, you mean.” Dorian grumbled, then cleared his throat and began reading:

“‘ _Dearest Inquisitor Lavellan,_

 _it would be my immense pleasure to show you the rich armory in my summer estate, which I am sure contains weapons and spears of the likeness you have never seen before. They are continuously polished and taken care of by the deft hands of my servants, which use many oils and salves to ensure the blades slip into their sheathes. I am most certain they would leave your mouth hanging open with wonder and admiration._ ’”

He made a gagging sound and shook his head as Lavellan’s cheeks became redder than the lyrium they fought against. “I am going to _puke_.”

“Is he referring to…”

Dorian’s look became sweeter and apprehensive.

“He is referring to _that_ , yes. This is a sort of Game too, you know? Putting all the possible innuendos into few lines, hoping to make the message clear. In this case, it’s _tremendously_ clear and disgusting. All these poor hints and horrible hidden meanings… He even mentions your _mouth_!” He snarled, took out his own paper and ink from a corner and started writing down.

“Let me take care of this fool, I beg you. He can’t write something like this to my best friend and hope to walk out undisturbed.”

Lavellan blinked, confused. She had understood the first half of letter - it was so plainly written that even she could read between the lines -, but that thing about her mouth was odd.

“What does my mouth have to do with this?”

Dorian scoffed, using Varric’s book to write on a firm support. The quill moved quickly, almost frantically, and his brow was furrowed in concentration.

“Everything, my friend. He was referring to a blowjob, in the most disgracing way I have ever seen. Not even Varric could fix that stuff.”

Lavellan adjusted herself awkwardly on the chair, her confusion increased. What was that term…?

“Blowjob? What is it?”

Dorian’s eyes shot up and the quill stopped moving. A long moment passed, a moment filled only by the conversations around them, by Leliana scolding two agents in the level above, by the rustle of paper and books. Then the man cleared his throat and retrieved the glass of wine, emptying it with one, quick sip.

“You mean,” he croaked out and Lavellan could swear she had seen the faintest blush on his cheeks, “that you never… uh… with Solas…?”

She raised her eyebrows, cheeks red. Of course she used her mouth with him! To kiss him, to bite him playfully, to whisper sweet things in his ear… Was that what the noble meant?

She said so and realized that, no, that was not the noble meant at all, because Dorian made a choking sound and covered his face. Now she was sure he was blushing too.

“I can’t believe we are discussing this!” he whispered, even bumping his closed fist against his forehead. “I can’t talk about this with _you_!”

“Why not?” she exclaimed, now worried that she had missed something terribly important, that up to that moment she had been deprived of a decisive information and had done everything wrong with Solas during their intimate moments. He had always seemed very satisfied and content, but how could she know? She had never done it before, he had been her first, and there were apparently many things she wasn’t aware of, secrets that the whole world knew and she ignored altogether.

“Dorian, tell me!” she insisted, reaching out to grab his sleeve and tug at it. “Come on! What does that word mean?”

“It’s… ah, it’s…” the human finally uncovered his face and avoided her eyes, making vague gestures with his hands. He opened and closed his mouth many times, before lightening up and saying: “Oh! You know when he uses his mouth on you? It’s the same thing!”

“But…” Lavellan frowned, more confused than ever. “That’s exactly what I told you just a moment ago. I kiss him, I bite him, and…”

As she saw Dorian’s expression, she understood that she was wrong again.

“He never… He never used his mouth on you in _that way_?” the human spluttered, his tone now indignant. “What is that fool thinking! Don’t tell me he only uses his hands and dick!”

“Dorian!” her eyes darted down to her lap; she saw Deshanna’s letter, but looked past it, not even acknowledging its presence.

“I may know _nothing_ about vaginas, but I know the common rules for making people feel good.” Dorian continued, furious and unable to believe what he was hearing. “How can he be so… so… _plain_?”

“He is not!” she protested, now her time to be offended and indignant. “He is never plain, Dorian! He is devoted, sweet, and so, so caring! He makes me feel so good, always!”

“Well, if he used his mouth and tongue, you would feel even _better_. And a blowjob is just that: putting your mouth and tongue on his dick, sucking and licking it. There. I said it. Now I can find the closest hole and rot in it for the rest of my life. What a waste.” He pouted and grabbed his book, opening it at a random page to be busy with anything that wasn’t sex education.

Lavellan’s cheeks were on fire, her mouth agape. She had never thought about those possibilities, those options, those different ways to bring pleasure to each other. Did Solas know? He probably did, he knew so many things, so why hadn’t he offered to try that before?

She tried to imagine the feeling of having his manhood in her mouth and suddenly a new world opened to her, a series of images and ideas that she had never imagined before; they were overwhelming, too new and unknown for her to understand and see properly, but it was enough to make her feel dizzy with desire and curiosity. Above all, she wanted to make Solas feel good, because if what Dorian was saying was true, then there were multiple ways to make a man reach the climax and she had used only the simplest one until now.

Again, she wondered why Solas had said nothing about it. Did he not like the idea of a blowjob? Was he too introverted to ask for it? His sweetness and care were probably another reason and she didn’t mind that he had never tried to kiss her _there_ ; maybe he didn’t like that as well or didn’t want to scare or upset her.

But the more she thought about his mouth - _his full, soft, warm mouth_ \- on the most private place of her body and about her own mouth on his _thick, hard length_ , the more she felt hot and _wet_ with need.

Dorian mistook her flushed face, shining eyes, and gaze lost in the distance for shock and sighed, putting away the book again and taking her hand. Lavellan almost jumped out of her skin and stared at the Altus, who smiled and squeezed her fingers.

“There is nothing wrong in not doing those things, my friend. Every couple has different habits, tastes, likes different things. If you never did that before, it’s perfectly fine. It doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy sex fully or didn’t give pleasure to each other.”

“I…” she snorted, shaking her head. “I think we never did those things because… because this is so new and I don’t know anything about these things and…”

“And Solas is awkward and dumb. Yes, I noticed that.”

“No!” Lavellan shook her head more vehemently. “I assure you, Dorian, he is not! He… he is very gentle and never asks for anything. In fact, I always touch him when we do it, because he always takes care of me _completely_ and doesn’t care about his own… umh, arousal.”

“Mh. Then he earns some points.” the human sat back on his chair and sighed. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to frighten you? I understand the sentiment, but that’s not reason to avoid some… _spiciness_.”

“How…” Lavellan cleared her throat, not knowing where she was taking the courage from. She could face monsters, mad magisters, and the most dangerous creatures of Thedas, but this? This was so new and so much _scarier_ and all her experience and knowledge were nearly useless.

She took in a deep breath and tried again: “How… how does one give a good blowjob?”

“No.” Dorian rose quickly, palms open, face pale and mouth set in the thinnest, straightest line Lavellan had ever seen. “I will not do this. I will not tell _you_ how to do that.”

“Please, Dorian! I can’t ask anyone else!”

He bristled, both flattered and shocked by her words.

“Why do you think I have the answer? I am not an expert on this stuff and…” he stopped when he saw the look on her face and huffed, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let’s say I know _some_ things about this whole sex thing! But I can’t explain how to use your mouth to give pleasure to that egg- _ouch_ , my beautiful abs!”

Lavellan had got up and smacked his chest, cold fury written on her face, and Dorian relented, albeit he kept pouting.

“There are no lessons to follow for this, my friend. This is not something you can learn by memorizing stuff. It’s… _animalistic_. Passionate. Raw and almost primitive, you have to let yourself go and follow your instincts, not some stupid rules written by a sexually frustrated author.”

“At least give me some advices!” she huffed, hands on her hips. “I don’t even know where to start from!”

“Why do you want to do this so badly?” Dorian folded his arms and tilted his head. “You never had any problems before, your sex life has always been good, right? I would know otherwise.” He winked and the weird, friendly tension in the nook disappeared, broken by Lavellan’s timid laughter.

“Yes.” she confirmed with a smile. “It has always been beautiful. And good. And mindblowing! And tender and funny and sweet and…”

“Then why change things! You don’t even know if he likes being sucked off!” Dorian ignored her spluttering and went on, narrowing his eyes: “… I can’t even believe he actually _comes_. Not because I believe you are bad, I would never say that. It’s just… doesn’t he get tired? I bet he comes only once. He possibly can’t keep his flag up too long.”

“ _Dorian!_ ”

“I’m just saying! He is not young anymore, while you _are_ and you are also so lively, curious, and feisty. How does he keep up with you?”

“He…! He does it perfectly! He never gets tired and he is so enthusiastic too!” Lavellan glared at him, then noticed with horror that she was still holding Deshanna’s letter in her fist. The envelope was a bit crumpled, but still intact.

“I just…” she murmured, smoothing the paper with her fingers, voice low and sad. “I just want him to feel good. He deserves all the joy in the world.” She remembered what had happened in the Dalish camp in the Exalted Plains and sighed. “People always judge him and disrespect him or completely ignore him. I want to make him feel beautiful, loved, cared for, and if a... a blowjob can help, then I want to try it. If he doesn’t like it, then he will tell me. But I want to try.”

Silence fell in the little space she and Dorian occupied, a silence that the voices and sounds around them couldn’t reach nor break. Then the Altus sighed and rested a hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly. She raised her head and saw him smile.

“Aren’t you the cutest woman that ever walked on Thedas?”

She smiled back as Dorian continued: “Very well. I see your point and I am sorry. I shouldn’t have joked like that.” He rubbed his chin pensively, curled his mustache a bit, thinking deeply, then said: “Listen, telling you what to do wouldn’t really work. I still think the best way to do this is just _doing_ it, getting right to it, _but_ there are some precious advices that could come in handy. Advices that I am absolutely not going to explain, so what about we take a couple of good lewd books and start from there?”

“Are you too shy to tell them to me?” she grinned and Dorian sniffled.

“Rude. I am merely concerned about your innocence, that’s all.”

“How kind of you.” her grin got wider. “We could ask Cassandra! She has many of those books, right? Maybe Varric’s series or…”

“Maker, no. You have to _avoid_ those. They contain all the things that you must _not_ do.”

She frowned and Dorian groaned, because that face usually meant she was confused.

“They can’t be that bad. And I need all the info possible, even the worst one! Otherwise how could I recognize the _best_ one?” she grinned again, wriggling her eyebrows, and the Altus just stared at her blankly, perhaps wondering how his life had changed so much.

“But first!” she sat down on the chair again, finally opening Deshanna’s letter. “Let’s take care of these!”

“After this exhausting, draining experience, you _must_ let me reply with curses and elegantly vulgar metaphors, Lavellan.” Dorian grumbled, but his pout turned into genuine worry when he saw the look on her face.

“Bad news?” he asked, making to get up, but she sighed and shook her head, dropping the letter back on her lap and finishing to read it.

“My Keeper says they received many requests from other clans. Proposals and offers of bonding me with their First or one of their best hunters.”

“And their answer was…?”

“That I am the one those clans should give their requests to.” Lavellan smiled. “That my clan can’t decide for me.” She looked back at the letter, her smile bigger. “My Keeper asks if I met someone in the Inquisition. I still haven’t had the chance to tell them about me and Solas, so this is the perfect time!”

Dorian snickered with affection, going back to his snarky reply to the Orlesian noble.

“I can already imagine how you will describe him to them.” he cleared his throat and continued in a high-pitched tone: “Oh, Keeper, he is so sweet and handsome! He has such a cute smile and his eyes are the same color of the sky when there are no clouds! He is so kind and wise and I want to have many little babies with him- _agh_ , stop it!”

“Solas’ eyes are not blue. Not light blue, at least.” she corrected him, her tone stern like the one of a teacher who expected her students to take notes about her serious lessons. “They are a _darker_ hue of blue, but they also look gray depending on the light and day.”

“This is so romantic and _mushy_. You once told me he has freckles. Actually, your exact words were: _‘Dorian, did you know that Solas has adorable freckles on his face? Oh, I could kiss them for hours!’_. And I pretended to be deeply interested. _Ouch_!”

“I am going to burn your mustache.” she grumbled, her face redder than ever. “Or better yet, to put _wax_ on it and pull with all my strength!”

“You would never do such a thing. Ruin such a masterpiece? You don’t have the guts.” Dorian grinned. “Do you also know how many freckles your beloved has? Did you count them?”

Lavellan lowered her head to read the letter again, not able to hide her smile.

“I am working on that.” she joked and Dorian giggled.

“I am telling Varric. This is too much, he has to put this into a book. And you are supposed to be the mighty Inquisitor? _Ouch, stop hitting me!_ ”

“I am going to ask Solas if I can mention him in my reply to Keeper Deshanna.” she said, getting up and smacking Dorian’s head one last time. He flailed his hands around, trying to hit her and push her away, but she was fast and precise and her small hands always found his perfect hair.

“You write to those nobles! Then we are going to Cassandra to take those books and-”

“I told you, they are _terrible_! Just take mine!”

“-and then I will read them all and try to learn all I can from them.” She frowned, suddenly remembering her other duties. “… While studying politics and table manners, I guess.”

“We also have another round of ball practice tonight at the tavern.” Dorian reminded her. He then smiled gently, remembering how upset she was the night before. “But you don’t have to dance with anyone if you don’t want to, sweetheart.”

“Solas is coming again!” she giggled, almost bouncing. “He said we will dance together!”

“Oh, he finally grew some balls- don’t even think about hitting me again!”

“Hurry with those letters!” she laughed, running out of the nook and down the stairs; she almost stumbled into the rotunda and Solas’ head snapped up from the countless tomes on his desk. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him; what she had just discussed with Dorian echoed in her mind and seeing Solas, his soft lips and beautiful face right after talking about _that_ , made her melt inside.

“ _Vhenan_?” he smiled, his expression now tender. “I thought I had heard your voice from upstairs.”

“Solas! Keeper Deshanna wrote!”

She ran to him, almost breathless, eyes sparkling with excitement. She showed him the letter and continued: “She asked me if I finally found someone here in the Inquisition and…”

“An odd thing to ask.” Solas smirked, an eyebrow raised, and she blushed, realizing that what she had said needed an explanation.

“Well, my clan received… proposals from other Dalish clans. As we expected.”

A shadow passed over Solas’ face, but it went away as she went on: “Keeper Deshanna told them she can’t give them an answer and that they should contact me to see what I think. Then she wrote this.” She looked back at the letter to find the right passage.

“‘ _Da’len, I know you never had experience with these matters and we all have been very concerned about your wellbeing during these long months. We now know that the humans treat you well and we are so proud of you and your accomplishments, but I need to ask: did they threaten you and your innocence with vile requests? The world out of our camp, especially the human world, is scary and dark, and you must be careful, lest that same darkness engulfs and consumes you._ ’”

Solas rested his hands on her waist, long, slender fingers digging gently into it, and said softly: “She sounds very caring and concerned.”

Lavellan sighed, a resigned, but fond smile curling her lips.

“She is. I am one of the youngest huntresses of the clan and she always took great care of me. Sometimes she can be so overprotective, though!”

She turned the page and continued reading: “‘ _Your parents are especially worried about what you might have seen or heard during your time in the Inquisition. Your friends are more optimist and carefree, just like you are: they want to know if you finally found someone while saving the world and travelling everywhere. They say that’s how it happens in the love stories and tales we narrate around the fire, but you know - even better than us - that the world is no fable. Although I confess your parents and I are equally curious and if you really found a mate, we would be very happy to know and hear more about him.’_

She giggled, shaking her head.

“Oh, Keeper! I am sure she scolds the others when they gossip about me, but secretly listens to every word they say and imagines the worst things.” She looked up at Solas, biting her lower lips, hope in her eyes, together with a timid prayer.

“Can I write to them about you? Just a brief mention, I promise! I…” her next words were mumbled: “I’d like to let them know I am with you.”

Solas’ lips on her forehead made her blush spread all over her face and neck and his hands moved on her back, pulling her close to him.

“It would be an honor.” he murmured and she hugged him with a happy laugh that resonated loudly in the rotunda.

“Thank you! I will get to work then!”

“ _Vhenan_ …” he chuckled, giving her one last kiss before reluctantly letting her go. “Please, try to be… objective. I appreciate immensely your praise and compliments, but I do not wish to disappoint your family and friends, should we meet in the future somehow.” His gaze turned melancholic. “The fact that I am no Dalish will already make me less appealing.”

“Disappoint?” Lavellan repeated, baffled. She felt so sorry whenever Solas low self-esteem appeared, either in their conversations or his reactions when she complimented him and told him how kind and beautiful he was. She had seen that the night before too, when they had made love and all her adoration for him had poured out from her lips.

 _‘Would that sexual thing Dorian mentioned make things better?’_ she wondered, before smiling and bringing a hand to Solas’ cheek to caress it-

“You won’t disappoint anyone and they will learn to accept you. I know they will. Stop worrying.” She kissed him. “And I promise I will be objective. I always am!”

An ironic “hah!” from the upper level made her cheeks burn and she turned to a snickering Dorian leaning over the railing.

“Go write those replies, you!”

“Only if I can use Tevene curses!”

“Fine.” she grumbled. “I can always change them back when I’ll copy what you wrote.”

“First you threaten to wax my mustache and now this? You wound me, my friend.” the Altus sniffled, before smirking again, winking, and going back into his nook.

Lavellan sighed and turned to apologize to Solas for the interruption, but found him stifling his laughter behind a hand.

“Forgive me.” he said, then snorted and tilted his head downwards. She thumped him and the smallest of giggles escaped his mouth. The sound alone made her feel inebriated, surrounded by pure bliss.

“You are insufferable!” she huffed, but he could hear the smile and the playful edge in her voice, and kept laughing behind his hand. “I’d better go write a reply to Keeper Deshanna. Today is going to be another busy day filled with lessons and duties.”

_‘I also need to buy the fabric for Solas’ gift… And the books! And then read those documents about the Orlesian nobles families, practice table manners with Josephine and…’_

She had no idea how to work on Solas’ gift, but she was an intelligent, resourceful woman. She would find the time and space to make his surprise.

As for the _other_ surprise… she still didn’t know what was really about and needed more information, but if it could make Solas feel better, if it could help him feel loved and beautiful, then she was ready to spend entire nights without sleeping just to sew, study, and read some more. She could get up while Solas was sleeping and work on his gift, while repeating weird human names and dates, and reading smutty love stories.

Yes! That was actually a good plan!

“I’ll see you at lunch.” she said with a bright smile and Solas, face red and eyes shining, cradled her head in his hands and kissed her, his shoulders still shaking. She tried to imagine how his soft lips would feel _there_ and what her lips would feel like to him on his hard length, but her mind was blank, devoid of information and terms for comparison, so all she could do was deepening the kiss and hoping she would do everything right once the moment came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters are going to get intense ( ´ ▽ ` ) . Also Lavellan's plan is _definitely_ going to work, especially now that the party is getting closer. As always, she is based on my [Inquisitor](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/tagged/scarlet-lavellan), so I apologize if she sounds very different from yours, even though her name is not mentioned. Forgive me again for any typos and please enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

“Alright.” Dorian turned one page of the heavy tome Lavellan had been poring over for the past hours. “Last one, then we stop, because I can’t handle more of this boring Orlesian history.”

Lavellan hummed in agreement, focused on the mannequin in front of her, on the needle she was carefully pulling out of the soft, green fabric she had bought that morning. It was hard sewing a sweater without knitting needles, but she needed correct measurements, the time at her disposal was not much, and the more she worked on it the more the risks of Solas discovering his surprise early increased.

She had bought the rich, delicate fabric from Messer Oliver, the merchant who had adopted the young elven boy. The young one had helped her find the best fabric, all the while showing her how much Elvhen he had learned, asking her more questions about the ancient lore, and lamenting his imminent departure.

Lavellan had gladly spent much time talking with him, until her duties couldn’t be ignored anymore; she had kissed his forehead, congratulating him and making him promise he would say her goodbye, then she had rushed to the undercroft. They kept there all the information about everyone’s measurements and preferences for their clothes and armors and she had taken Solas’ various sizes to better work on her gift.

Before starting to work on it, though, she had tried to memorize and study the main members of the Orlesian royalty, remembering Josephine’s advices about making a great impression at the party with her knowledge.

Thankfully, Dorian had come to help, also bringing the books he had promised (and the replies to those marriage proposals, replies that she _absolutely_ had to correct). She still hadn’t had a chance to speak with Cassandra about the series she read, but the ones the Altus had brought were good enough in the meantime.

He had asked her questions to see if she remembered everything - except for the weirdest names or most difficult dates, the rest wasn’t so bad and her good memory had helped her answer correctly while she focused on the mannequin and the sweater slowly taking shape on it.

“So…” Dorian curled his mustache, pondering the last question. “For how long did Florian reign?”

Lavellan’s hand stopped midair, then she lowered it and hummed thoughtfully.

“He was… he was Emperor from 8:84 Blessed to 9:14 Dragon, when he died. Right?”

Dorian made a triumphant sound and tossed the book across the room, earning himself a glare from Lavellan which he innocently ignored; he then took one of the stories he had chosen, a plain booklet without any image or title on the cover.

“This” he said with a grin, “is one of the best smut from Tevinter you will ever come across, my friend.”

Lavellan pinned the noodle inside the half-formed collar of the sweater and gingerly went to the desk were Dorian was sitting at. She took the booklet he was handing her and opened it at a random page, reading the first line. Immediately she felt a strong heat rise on her cheeks and opened her mouth in a silent, surprised gasp.

Dorian cackled, putting more books - all without titles or clear indication of what they were about - on the desk and she was able to look away from the very _explicit_ descriptions written on that page to look at them.

“This is the best of the best. Forget Varric’s series, he is more of a drama and angst author anyway. _This_ is the real, serious stuff. It’s realistic, well detailed, clear. There is no vulgarity in it, only passion.”

“I can see that.” she murmured, looking at the illustration at the start of another book. While it was very well made and not overly sexual, there were heavy undertones in it and she blushed, not used to that imagery. She wasn’t even really sure what was happening and she quickly closed the book, placing the other one still in her hands on the desk.

“Try not to let Solas find these, if you want to give him that _other_ surprise.” Dorian chuckled, getting up and kissing her head as he went towards the stairs. “And now, my friend, I go. A glass of good wine and some fresh air are much needed after all our work. Oh, and food! I can’t believe we forgot about food! You should come too!”

“Thank you, but I want to work on this a bit more.” she said, nodding at the mannequin. “The party is getting closer and I don’t know how much I will be able to work on the sweater after it. We still have to meet Hawke’s friend and the Empress’ Ball is not that far away either. I want to give this to Solas as soon as possible.”

“He is in dire need of more clothes, that’s for sure.” the Altus grumbled and Lavellan gave him a pointed look, even if smiling. “Fine, fine, I’ll say no more! We shall meet later at the tavern then, yes? And remember to eat dinner… although I am sure your sweetheart will remind you of that.”

She nodded, her smile now bright, looking forward to dance with Solas in front of everyone. This time the practice session was going to start later, after dinner, so she still had time to work on the sweater and read at least one chapter of the first booklet, before eating with Solas and going to the tavern together.

“Good! Let me know if you need anything else. You shouldn’t have problems, though; one of those authors is so good at her job that her works are used for sexual education in the houses of many Tevinter nobles.”

“I…” Lavellan snorted and shook her head. “Thank you, Dorian. I know this seems stupid, but…”

“No, no, it’s not!” his grin was enthusiastic and sincerely happy. “Doing something nice for your lover to make them feel good is always a beautiful thing, my friend.”

He winked at her, then went down the stairs, gently closing the door. They had spent many hours closed in that huge room, talking about Orlesian nobility, the chronology of the Empire, the various duchesses and counts scattered in Val Royeaux and the Dales, and Lavellan couldn’t blame him for having gone away so quickly.

They hadn’t even had the chance to eat lunch - something that Lavellan hated to miss, not for the food, but because she always spent it with Solas. He hadn’t come, probably knowing she was busy or being busy himself, and she had missed his presence terribly, although Dorian’s had helped her feel less alone.

She looked at the sketch of the sweater she had prepared before; the idea was simple, but elegant and refined, similar to what she had seen in the dream in the Fade. Solas had looked comfortable in that attire and she wanted to recreate something like that. She didn’t possess enough skill to make a perfect copy and she had never worked with silk before, so a thick sweater based on that rich outfit was the only thing she could personally make.

Once there was time, she would make sure to commission more clothes for him - always asking his opinion and making him choose, of course -, but for now she wanted to craft something for him by herself, a personal gift completely made by her.

She smiled, trying to imagine Solas’ face upon seeing her surprise, then she got flustered, because there was that _second_ surprise that she needed to prepare for. Her eyes fell on the books Dorian had brought and she sewed one last point on the collar of the sweeter, before stopping and opening the booklet she had held before.

The first lines of the first chapter already made her mind swim in an ocean of curiosity, embarrassment, and incredulity. She kept the book open on the desk, glancing at the words while sewing, but it wasn’t very comfortable and she stung her fingers with the needle multiple times. After half an hour, her fingertips were red, bleeding, and sore and she had to come to a compromise.

After fixing one last detail on the sweater, she took the booklet and started reading it, so enthralled she didn’t even think about sitting somewhere. After a while, her legs began to ache, so she leaned against the desk, her eyes never leaving the rich, melodious tones of the story. It wasn’t very long, there were more descriptions and dialogues than real plot, so it only took her little more than an hour to reach the very good, _juicy_ part.

She bit her lips, eyebrows raised high, as she tried to wrap her mind around the lewd things happening in that scene. She imagined herself and Solas in that situation and heat rose again on her face; by the time the protagonist began giving the blowjob to her husband, Lavellan was deeply and completely immersed in the book, ears deaf to any sound, eyes never leaving the pages, lips slight parted in surprise and excitement. She hadn’t even noticed how dark the sky was outside, how it was almost time for dinner; she didn’t remember that a servant was going to come soon to bring her and Solas’ food, that _Solas_ was going to come as well.

All that she knew was that she wanted to make him come, but in a different way, the same way the protagonist of that small story was making her love come. She sounded expert, more confident than her in those things, and she didn’t’ know if she could do that same stuff with so much ease, without hurting Solas or causing him displeasure… or without choking, which the book described like a possible outcome.

Lavellan reached the end of the chapter, then closed the booklet with a ‘thud’ and put it back on the desk, her legs hurting, her head dizzy and full of images that had never crossed her mind before. She walked back and forth the room, murmuring what she had learned in a soft voice: apparently it was good to massage the manhood and the sack while kissing the tip to increase the arousal and using the tongue along the whole length was recommended.

She tried to imagine doing those things to Solas and whimpered, hiding her face behind her hands. She wanted to do it, that same night, she wanted to make him moan and squirm and come loudly in her mouth like the man in the book! At the same time, she was scared, scared of offending him, of hurting him or doing a terrible job. She couldn’t bear the thought of giving him a bad experience and ruining their night nor the thought of disgusting him with her offer. She didn’t know if he liked that kind of things, she didn’t know how he would react.

 _‘Would he be pleased and happy?’_ she wondered, turning to the mannequin and touching the green fabric on it. Other pieces of it were on the desk, waiting to be sewed together. _‘What sounds would he make if I did a good job?’_

She was about to take the book and see how the scene evolved, ready to learn and understand more, when someone knocked at the door downstairs.

“ _Vhenan_?”

She gasped and tripped over the mannequin, almost making it fall on the ground.

“Y-Yes?” she babbled and panicked when she heard the door open.

“I brought dinner. May I-”

“Just… just one second!”

She picked up the mannequin and frantically looked around, searching for a good hiding place; the only one was the small room with the ladder that led on the second level of the room. Solas never went there, so it was the best choice.

Just to be sure, she covered the mannequin with a spare white sheet laying around, then she hurried back to the books. She couldn’t hide them among the others in the bookshelves: Solas had personally arranged them and knew every single tome. He would have noticed immediately those blank covers, the presence of those booklets jarring with the others.

“Is everything alright?” Solas asked, respectfully waiting down the stairs. He sounded worried and even a bit surprised, so Lavellan did her best to reassure him, feeling guilty and stupid.

“Yes, of course! I’m just… tidying up!”

“… Tidying up?”

She bit her lower lip, humming a cheerful ‘uh-huh!’, and went back into the small room, hiding the books right under the long sheet covering the mannequin. Satisfied, she got out, firmly closed the door, and announced: “Done!”

Only then she saw the sketch and the pieces of green fabric still on the desk and she paled. Solas was making his way to the top of the stairs, slowly, because he was carrying food, so she still had some seconds to act quickly. She folded the sketch and hid it under a pile of old documents that she still needed to archive. The scraps of fabric were hastily pushed inside a drawer of the desk, just as Solas stepped into the room with a tray of food in his hands.

“My heart.” he said with a bright smile, which she returned, cheeks on fire. He placed the tray on the little table near the couch, as usual, and Lavellan slowly approached him, the vivid descriptions of sex still ringing in her head, the scenes she had read playing one after the other in her mind. They made her knees feel weak and a familiar heat pooled in her groin.

“There was no need to put things in order just for me, _vhenan_.” Solas chuckled, turning and taking her hands in his. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, sending a pleasant and warm shiver up her spine. “My desk is way messier than yours, after all.”

“This time it was really bad.” she laughed nervously, looking at everything but his lips, his _pulpy_ , _soft_ , _beautiful_ lips…

“Long day?” he asked, kissing her forehead, and she clung to his sweater, tensing up a bit because his touch was already driving her crazy with desire. She wanted to do with him the same things she had read in that book, she wanted to make him feel like the man in that story; part of her was bold and curious, another one was more timid than ever and scared.

“ _Vhenan_?”

She blinked, startled, and look up at him with wide eyes. He seemed worried and she realized she still hadn’t answered his question.

“Oh! Yes, long day. So many names and dates to remember and…” she sighed, knowing that she was going to forget some soon unless she concentrated hard enough and didn’t let her mind… wander.

It was difficult doing so, though, especially with Solas’ hands tenderly running up and down her back in soothing motions.

“I am sorry we couldn’t eat lunch together!” she exclaimed. “I lost track of the time and Dorian insisted to study Chantry history too and…”

“Do not worry. There is no need to apologize.” Solas smiled and that sight alone made her melt. “I had my fair share of things to do today. Cullen and Leliana asked me to write a personal report on the current situation of the Veil and Rifts.”

“Did you eat?” she asked, fearing that he had only drunk a cup of tea, and the pink shade coloring the tip of his ears and his freckled cheeks confirmed her fear.

“Well… more or less.” he cleared his throat and swiftly brought the focus on her: “And you? Please, tell me Dorian had enough brain to let you rest and eat.” He was frowning, now, and as she giggled and shook her head, he scrunched his nose too.

“Unbelievable!”

“We were too busy with those books.” she of course didn’t mention the _other_ books the Altus had brought and how much time she had spent on the first one. Her legs and eyes were still aching.

She looked at the tray and licked her lips, eyes glinting. Solas followed her gaze and chuckled, understanding.

“Then it is good that I requested something particularly nutrient for tonight. We have to practice for a ball, after all, don’t we?”

Lavellan smiled at him, beaming, then looked into the tray: oil bread, potatoes, two plates covered to keep the food in them warm, and…

She slowly turned to Solas, a lop-sided smile curling her lips.

“ _Six_ frilly cakes?”

“ _Three_ ,actually. I have all intentions to share.” Solas grinned. “Unless you want all six of them?”

“I am not so cruel.” she poked his side, making him snort. She held her chin high, in a joking manner. “What if I want none? Would you be able to eat them all?”

“ _Vhenan_ , if I could live off of frilly cakes alone, I would do it without hesitation.”

They laughed, the two different sounds mixing together and echoing in the room with harmony; she was able to relax, to put aside those lewd thoughts that both embarrassed her, excited her, and made her feel fidgety, aroused, and anxious. She reached out for the silver lid that covered one plate and said, while lifting it: “What’s this?”

As soon as she saw what the cooks had prepared, her cheeks became red again and her heart beat faster.

It was _stupid_ and she felt childish and foolish, but her mind didn’t want to slow down and she couldn’t help but think about the book again.

Sausages. The cooks had prepared sausages.

She quickly covered back the plate, as a concerned Solas asked: “You don’t like it?”

“Oh, no, no! I love it, thanks! It looks delicious!” she smiled, hoping it was a good kind of smile and not the kind that meant ‘I am screaming inside’; fortunately, it seemed she was still able to control her emotions, because Solas smiled back at her, reassured, and took the tray, heading to the bed.

They sat down on it like they did every night to eat dinner and he started talking about his discoveries, the things he had found in the precious, rare tomes he had ordered.

Lavellan tried to listen and even if the majority of what he was saying reached her ears and mind, she couldn’t shake those dirty thoughts away and avoided the sausage laying in her plate. They looked good, yummy, and that was exactly the problem.

But then she realized that she risked to worry Solas again or make him think she didn’t like what he had ordered from the kitchens; as quickly as possible, she cut the sausage - flinching - and started eating it, nodding and humming to show that she was listening.

She had almost finished it - and just as she had thought, it _was_ delicious - when he abruptly stopped talking about the Veil and his studies and asked:

“Do you want to eat my sausage, _vhenan_?”

She chocked and started spluttering, her face redder than her hair, eyes swelling with tears.

“ _Vhenan_!”

“I…” she wheezed, a hand on his shoulder to reassure him and lean on him at the same time. He quickly poured her a glass of water and she drank it in one full gulp.

“I am fine, Solas.” she croaked out, giving him a shaky, wet smile. “I took a too big bite.”

He kept patting her back, eyes wide with worry, until her breathing turned normal again and she could speak without problems.

“I saw that you finished yours so quickly and I wondered whether you wanted mine too.” he said, apologetic and rueful. “It is too heavy for me at this time of the day, I fear.”

“Don’t worry.” she squeezed his hand, smiling, heart thrumming because his skin was warm and a bit calloused and she loved it. “It won’t go wasted. The kitchen staff will give it to the dogs and cats in the courtyard, they are so spoiled by now.”

He kissed her head and she had to bit her lips to stifle the soft moan threatening to escape them; Solas’ breath was hot and it ruffled her hair, his nose bumped against her head, and his thumb pushed playfully in the space between her index and middle finger.

“Then” he said, nuzzling her hair, “can I eat your buns?”

She made an inarticulate sound, a noise between a squeal and a squeak, and gawked at him. She couldn’t almost hear her own voice as she babbled a pitiful “what?”, but she could definitely feel that bold part of her grow and shout _yes, yes, yes, yes!_.

“Your buns! Only if you don’t want them, of course.” Solas pointed at the tray. She followed his eyes and her shoulders slumped. He was referring to the two small buns of bread that she had left near her plate; he had already finished his own, his sweet tooth giving him cravings for the delicate taste of oil bread too.

“Oh! Of… of course.” she murmured, feeling more stupid than ever, and the sting of disappointment was a companion for her shame. She took the small plate of potatoes and began to eat those, crushing her feelings under their rich taste, hoping to look busy enough with food to avoid explaining her silly behavior.

Solas was now sure something was wrong, though, and gently took her hands. He was about to speak when he saw the red dots on her fingertips caused by the needle.

“What happened?”

She opened her mouth and attempted to come up with a good excuse, but none came in mind, so no sound left her mouth either. Solas didn’t mind and brought her hands to his face, kissing the angry, reddened skin; she shivered as his soft, full lips touched her fingers and a tingling sensation spread from them to her arms.

He slowly brought her hands down, but never let them go, and she could see he had healed them, the inflamed spots gone under his touch.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, already missing the feeling of his mouth on her skin, wondering how it would feel on that part of her that he worshipped almost every night with his fingers and body. She looked down at their joined hands and couldn’t help but glance at his legs, at his pants not covered by the loincloth of his sweater. She felt like a pervert and immediately averted her eyes, ears on fire.

“Scarlet.” Solas called gently.

He usually called her _vhenan_ and other sweet elven endearments, using her name only when he was scared for her health in battle or when they made love. Sometimes, though, he used it in their everyday life, the sound always sweet and loving, pronounced like it was something precious to treasure. He pronounced it like it was the most beautiful word in the world, the word that carried the biggest, most gorgeous, and important meaning he had ever encountered, in Thedas and in the Fade alike.

He said it like that even now and she looked at him, face flushed, mesmerized by his soft, kind smile and tender eyes. There was a streak of grease near the corner of her mouth and he slowly wiped it away with his thumb.

“You look very nervous tonight.” he said, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you worried for the dance practice at the tavern?”

“No! I am looking forward to it!” and it was true, she couldn’t wait to dance with him in front of everyone, even if she was probably going to trip and step on his feet.

She couldn’t mention the books hidden in the closet, the notions that they contained, those teachings of sexual nature that she wanted to learn to make him feel good, those words, positions, and acts that both intrigued and scared her.

He added, seeing how quiet she was: “As am I. But if you are afraid of stepping on my toes or stumbling, do not be. You learned the steps well and I will guide you.” He smirked and cupped her cheeks. “And should the melody become more difficult, we will stumble together and then go sit to heal our pride with more food.”

“We will get chubby and soft with all this stuff.” she giggled and he laughed with her.

“I apologize. With ‘food’ I meant those pastries Cabot orders from Val Chevin, of course.”

They both burst into a full laughter and Lavellan watched as two cute dimples formed on Solas’ freckled face, she looked at his squinting eyes, she listened as his laughter turned into the chuckle-snort that was so him. He looked happy and relaxed, devoid of that melancholy and sadness that so often appeared in his eyes.

She cuddled next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist as he hugged her tightly; she was still anxious about that book and her heart was beating so fast and hard her head felt dizzy, but Solas was content and she was too and that was what most counted. She was going to keep reading those novels, even if they confused, aroused, and scared her beyond measure, and she was going to make sure Solas always smiled.

So she kissed his cheek, a wet, loud, enthusiastic kiss and took the first two frilly cakes.

“Speaking of pastries,” she said, grinning, “we should start eating these if we want to arrive at the tavern in time.”

 

\- - - -

 

Walking hand in hand with Solas through Skyhold was a beautiful experience. They were discreet, but didn’t hide it; his fingers squeezed hers every few seconds and she liked to rub her thumb on the back of his hand, touching the soft skin and the slightly rough knuckles. Some people still turned to look at them with surprise, but the majority had learned of their relationship by now, and watched them pass with a smile or a bow directed at her.

It was a beautiful experience because it was like shouting to the world that they were together, it was a confirmation they didn’t need, but wanted to share the same. It was subtle and elegant, but it was a message, and Lavellan wanted everyone - _everyone_ \- to know they were together.

So she didn’t let him go when they stepped inside the tavern and they kept holding hands even when the other patrons greeted them with shouts and music.

Some of their companions were already there, probably forced again by Harding, who was showing Blackwall how not to crush his poor partner’s feet. Maryden kept the tune simple, but as soon as she saw the Inquisitor and her lover, she lightened up and changed melody, choosing a more romantic one. Her lyrics about love and desire, clearly made up on the moment, made Lavellan blush.

“Scarlet!”

Dorian waved at her from one of the tables; Cassandra and Varric were there as well, bickering as usual, already dreading the upcoming practice.

“Aw, aren’t you two just adorable?” Dorian said with a wink as she and Solas sat down. “Strolling around Skyhold hand in hand like an old married couple?”

“Dorian!” Lavellan exclaimed, glaring and pleading him with her eyes at the same time; next to her, Solas chuckled and politely accepted the ale Varric was handing him.

“Leave them alone, Sparkler.” the dwarf said with a paternal smile. “It’s good to have some romanticism in these dark times.”

“You say that just because you are looking for more examples for your books.” the Altus muttered, then grinned, turning back to Lavellan. “We all know there are better romantic titles for sale.”

She spluttered into her mug, spilling ale on the table and on her chin; Solas’ warm hand was immediately on her back and she felt him lean in, worried.

“Dorian!” she repeated, this time a pitiful croak, and the human just burst out laughing, completely unaware of her glare and Cassandra’s reproaching look.

“I never claimed to write good romance novels. Only the Seeker likes that stuff and even my publisher told me they sell like shit!” Varric retorted, admitting it without problems nor hurt pride.

“Odd. The Orlesians usually adore that stuff.”

“The Inquisitor and Solas’ kind of romanticism is too pure for my books and those nobles.” Varric couldn’t help but grin as well. “You should have heard them talk at the Dalish camp, weeks ago!”

“ _Varric_.” Lavellan hissed, heat flaring up on her face like fire, but Dorian’s eyebrows rose, his lips quirked, and he tilted his head, clear signs that he had all intention to know more. There was no stopping him now.

“I am intrigued.” he said, curling his mustache, but Solas intervened with a calm and controlled expression that hid perfectly his smugness: “I am sure whatever Scarlet and I had told each other that day is _nothing_ compared to the sweet words you and Iron Bull pronounce.”

Dorian’s face got redder than Lavellan’s hair and a quiet, horrified gasp went out of his open mouth. Varric howled in laughter, while Lavellan and Cassandra shared a look and covered their fit of giggles behind their mugs.

“Of all the…!” the Tevinter babbled, almost wheezing, palms open wide on the rough surface of the table. “That’s preposterous! I never… How can you… Me and… _No!_ ”

“The Inquisitor and I aren’t the only couple people love to gossip about.” a satisfied smirk appeared on Solas’ full lips and he rested against his chair, his hand gently taking Lavellan’s under the table. “In fact, most people are now used to us. You and Bull are the new, interesting story.”

“Your boyfriend is _mocking_ me!” Dorian shrieked to a now laughing Scarlet, who pulled back her legs to avoid being kicked by the furious Altus.

“I am merely stating the truth!” Solas exclaimed with all the innocence in the world. “I mean no offense.”

“Sorry, Sparkler, but he’s right.” Varric said, still laughing and drying one tear with his index finger. “It’s not every day that a magister from Tevinter…”

“An _Altus_!”

“… and a Qunari get together and decide to exchange body fluids.”

Lavellan and Cassandra didn’t hold back their laughter this time, while Solas managed to hide his smirk into his mug of ale and let the sound of his chuckle get muffled by the chaos in the tavern.

Dorian cursed in Tevene, face redder than a tomato, and abruptly got up, scraping the chair on the floor and smacking Varric’s head.

“Hey, Dorian!” Bull cried out, bringing more drinks and food to the table. “Where are you going? We gotta dance, remember?”

“ _Kaffas_!” Dorian cursed again, gritting his teeth, and went straight to the counter without looking back, hands closed into fists, steps wide and stiff.

“Weird. He usually isn’t so moody at night.” Bull mumbled, not seeing the grins plastered on his friends’ faces. He sat down on Dorian’s chair and beamed at Lavellan and Solas, his eye glinting with amusement and satisfaction.

“It’s good to see you here again, Solas! Gonna dance with the boss?”

“That is our intention, yes.” Solas nodded with a smile, his and Lavellan’s hands still joined under the table.

“You’re lucky, old man!” a thrilling voice from above said. “That Loranil guy isn’t here yet!”

The smile disappeared from Solas’ face, replaced by a grim scowl, and Lavellan glared at the stairs, knowing Sera was up there somewhere.

“Sera!” she called, not wanting to worry Solas and ruin his night. “You will have to dance too, so you better choose a partner now!”

“Fuck that! I am not dancing that shit!”

“If she dances, can I go back to the hall?” Varric grumbled and pouted. “You saw how I move, Inquisitor, this… this is not for me. Can I be dismissed?”

“No.” Scarlet grinned. “We all have to suffer and go through this together. Plus…” she looked at Solas, flushed and content. “It is not that bad.”

“Not for you two, maybe!” the dwarf groaned, slamming his head against the table. “Wicked Grace? I can do that. Telling stories? Nothing is easier for me. Shooting assholes? That’s easy too. But _dancing_?”

“I can confirm that.” Cassandra deadpanned. “He stepped on my toes for the whole time yesterday.”

“You are _taller_ than me and expect _me_ to lead?”

Cassandra sniffled indignantly, her brow furrowing into an intense, offended knot.

“Fine, then. I will bend and put my hand on your waist while you put yours on my shoulder. That should be way easier and romantic, right?”

“And sexier.” Bull mumbled in a low voice, causing Lavellan and Solas to snort and muffle their laughter again.

“It would be, if he didn’t step on my feet!” Cassandra complained, folding her arms, and rolling her eyes.

“Careful, Seeker, or I might think you feel something for me.” Varric chuckled, elbowing her, but she only huffed again and looked at the ceiling, waiting for the music to change so they could start. There were still too many people in front of the fireplaces, soldiers and workers who wanted to get better to make a good impression or simply to spend a good time with their friends and sweethearts. It was still not the time for the Inquisitor and her inner circle to step in.

The topic changed and they started talking about the party and the two main, big missions that awaited them after it; Lavellan listened intently to Cassandra’s advice, laughed when Varric told a story about Hawke and a noble in Kirkwall, shared with Bull opinions about the different human customs they had observed, and listened with sparkling eyes as Solas described the beautiful memory of an ancient ball.

He and Bull began to discuss the people the Qunari had worked for and how much he had learned from them and their behavior; apparently it had been good “spying practice” and Solas asked some questions, while Varric and Cassandra resumed their bickering with each other about their dancing skills.

Lavellan glanced down at Solas’ hand, still in hers; his fingers squeezed hers playfully and she blushed, remembering the first chapter of the booklet. The main character had let her love know how aroused she was during dinner, by touching his thigh under the table. It had been the first step that had led to their lovemaking in their rooms, a silent message that had signaled her constant interest for him.

Taking a deep breath, Scarlet gently pulled her hand away - aware of its slight shaking - and rested it on Solas’ thigh, adding a light pressure.

He didn’t stop talking nor his voice wavered nor his tone changed; he kept going, maintaining his perfect composure and eye contact with Bull, but Lavellan felt him tense up and saw an intense light appear in his eyes, a light that always illuminated his eyes during lovemaking.

As Bull roared with laughter for something funny Varric had said and tilted his head backward to take a full sip of ale, Solas glanced at her. She could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes down, staring at her mug, the fingers of her free hand tracing absentmindedly the carvings and drawings etched into the table.

She slowly moved the hand on his thigh higher and heard his breath hitch. Face hot and flushed, she kept still and waited for his reaction.

Bull’s attention got back on Solas and he was forced to look away from her; but as he continued to talk normally, as if nothing was happening under the table, his left hand moved and rested on her knee, a comforting, warm, but also sensual presence.

His long fingers dug pleasantly into her pants and she gathered all her courage to move her hand even further, until her little finger brushed against a particularly sensitive part. This time he jerked a bit and coughed into his mug, tips of his ears red; his own hand travelled along Scarlet’s thigh, painfully slow, until she was shivering with need and desire and the heat in her groin was unbearable.

She replayed the scene in the book in her mind: the protagonist had aroused her love at dinner, then they had gone straight to bed, barely holding back, and there she had relieved him first, feisty and playful, a dominant mistress that knew how to pleasure her darling. The man had writhed and moaned her name, bucking into her mouth, and Scarlet’s head went dizzy as she pictured Solas in that state, unleashed, about to orgasm thanks to her and her lips around his manhood.

She had never tasted him and wondered what he would taste like; she had seen him come and spend inside her, she had heard him call her name and gasp and pant, but would his sounds be different during a blowjob?  
Would he beg, grasp her hair, and pull himself deeper into her like the man in the book? Or would he go mad with pleasure and tear the sheets, unable to stay still, and call her name repeatedly?

At the end of the last chapter she had read, the protagonist was about to “receive great pleasure” from her husband. Scarlet knew what that meant - he was going to return the favor and put his mouth on her and that fact caused another streams of lewd, confused thoughts to invade her mind. She glanced down at Solas’ hand and saw it move again, until it stopped right where hers was on his thigh.

Bull, Varric, and Cassandra had turned back to speak with Krem and the Chargers; the topic was still nobles and their weird habits and behaviors, but Solas wasn’t participating in the conversation anymore and seized that chance to lean in and whisper into Lavellan’s ear:

“ _Vhenan_ , are you trying to tell me something?”

 _‘I want your dick in my mouth.’_ she thought, but fortunately those words didn’t come out and she managed to nod, the air so hot and heavy it was like being submerged in steaming water, the sounds around her muffled, distant. Only Solas and his warm breath ghosting over her flushed skin mattered.

“Oh?” his lips brushed lightly against the tip of her ear and she gulped. “Then was I correct to assume that you would have enjoyed my hand on your thigh?”

She smiled, moved by his kind manners. Even in a situation like that, he always made sure she was comfortable and he did his best to never overstep his boundaries… which she didn’t want him to have. They were a couple and he didn’t have to be so formal.

Still, she was flattered by his thoughtfulness and her smile was timid when he kissed her cheek, continuing: “We must be careful. What would people think if the Inquisitor touched her apostate lover in front of a full tavern?”

“I don’t care.” she breathed, feeling hot, almost overwhelmed by how near Solas was, by his voice and his scent of old paper, sweat, and grass. She giggled, moved by that sweet man that owned only a sweater and a pair of torn pants, and remembered her present for him, waiting to be completed in her rooms.

She felt him smile against her skin.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” she squeezed his leg and he gasped, making her giggle again.

“Scarlet.” he whispered, sounding almost in pain, impatient, tortured by the fact that they couldn’t do anything there and in that moment. “Please, _vhenan_ _'ara_. Wait a little more. Just one dance and then we will go to a more private place.”

She realized she had broken his restrain just like the woman in the book had done with her husband. She had showed all her interest and desire to Solas and he had melted, accepting and returning it and desperately looking forward to take her in the safety of her rooms.

She bit her lips, grinning, and brought her hand under the loincloth of Solas’ sweater. He was hard and ready for her; he gasped and dug his fingers into her thigh, looking for the self-control he had lost.

She asked, her voice barely a murmur, excited by that control, by that reaction that she had caused, by the thrill of doing that with only a table and a wooden wall separating them from all those people:

“Promise?”

Solas growled and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, nipping at the skin there.

“I _swear_.” He licked the pink spot his teeth had grazed and added: “ _Isalan hima sa i’na, vhenan._ ”

She touched his hard manhood one last time before springing up and announcing, voice a bit too high, two red dots on her cheeks and her ears so red they couldn’t be told apart from her hair: “I will bring more drinks!”

Bull turned back, leaving Varric and Cassandra to their argument with Krem, and eyed the table and the still full mugs on it.

“More drinks…?”

She was already gone, though, and the Qunari looked at Solas, grinning like a smartass: “Are you feeling okay, Solas? Your face is all red.”

“I am fine.”

“The boss touched you too hard?”

Solas broke into a fit of coughs, barely swallowing his ale, and Bull roared again, banging his hand on the table.  
  
  
  
\- - - -

  
  
Scarlet found Dorian still at the counter, sipping without hurry a clear drink from a small glass. He harrumphed when she arrived and sat next to him, but she was too excited to play along and tugged at his sleeve, whispering, glad that Cabot was not there at the moment: “Dorian, I just realized something!”

“What, that you and your boyfriend are rude and love to mock poor, innocent people?”

She frowned and poked his ribs, making him snort into his glass.

“You are anything but poor and innocent! And stop feigning offense, everyone knows you and Bull are together!”

“We are not!” the Tevinter hissed, but he relented seeing her face. He pouted and sighed.

“Fine, we… we are getting there. I think. I don’t know, it’s still early. For now, we _exchange body liquids_.” He looked above his shoulder, glaring at an unaware Varric.

“I think you would be happy together.” Lavellan said, her smile honest and bright. “But I won’t insist more if that bothers you. I am not good at these things, but if you ever need help I am here, alright?”

“The innocent Dalish girl offering relationship advice to the lascivious Altus from Tevinter?” Dorian chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Sounds like something straight out of one of Varric’s novels.”

“I am slowly learning more though.” she said, bouncing on her stool, and the human sighed fondly and put an arm around her shoulders, shaking her lightly.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Then his expression turned sly and smug. “Right, you _are_ learning! How were the books? Did you start reading them?”

“I almost finished the shortest one.” she whispered, looking around; Cabot was talking with Sutherland and his company at the second floor; Sera was still there too, laughing with a waitress; Solas and the others were still at their table and nobody was at the counter. The music and Zither’s instructions were loud, the complains and laughter filling the small tavern enough to cover Lavellan and Dorian’s conversation.

“The one with the noble lady and her husband.” she continued, playing with the crumbs on the counter. “The author describes the sex very… very well.”

“It is pretty good, yes.” Dorian grinned at her from above the brim of his glass. “And what did you realize?”

“That I am trash.” Scarlet rested her head down, on her arm, and sighed dreamily. “I put my hand on Solas’ thigh earlier, at the table.”

“Maker!” Dorian gasped, a hand on his chest. “Such filth! Such boldness!” He giggled when she kicked his shin. “What did the old man do? Did he have a stroke?”

“Stop it!” she smacked his arm. “He put his hand on my thigh too!”

“My, you truly are the kinkiest couple in Skyhold. Touching thighs under a table. I am stunned.”

“I also touched his manhood. But just barely. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it and everything that was written in that novel.” she whined, hiding her face into her arm. “Dorian, I _am_ trash! What would he think!”

“That you are young and lively and want to spicy up things a bit?” the human mage wriggled his eyebrows. “There is nothing wrong in daring more, my friend. I am sure he will like your surprise, once you are ready to give it to him.”

“I am not even sure I will able to give it to him _properly_.” she looked at him with pleading, big eyes, and Dorian was clever enough to look away. “How do you and Bull do it? Is it hard? I read that you can choke and if you use your teeth by mistake…”

Dorian tried to leave, his red face rivaling with Scarlet’s, but she pulled him by the belt and make him sit down again, the drink still safe in the glass.

“We are not talking about this.”

“But you do it with Bull and…”

“Read the books, I gave them to you for this exact purpose!”

“The books can’t tell me everything!”

Just then the music changed, turning into a more elegant, melodic tune that was apt for a classy dance like the Orlesian style required. The most important soldiers and agents of the Inquisition - the ones that surely were going to dance at the party - gathered in front of the fireplace. Harding was among them, giving the initial instructions with Zither and correcting everyone’s posture.

“Oh, look at that! It’s our turn!” Dorian gulped down his drink and got up, pretending to be deeply uninterested in what was going to happen, although his eyes often went to Bull, who was still sitting at their table and was welcoming Blackwall and Cole.

Lavellan had risen too and saw Solas arrive; she smiled at him and took his hands as soon as he was near enough.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said softly, smiling back at her. “I believe it is time. Let us begin, before someone steal you from me.”

As they stepped into the dancefloor, people greeted them and cheered for them; Harding winked at Lavellan and Sera whistled from the railing upstairs, still refusing to dance.

“Take a deep breath, old man!” she cackled, but Solas ignored her, eyes and ears only for Lavellan; he pulled her closer, his hand on her waist a warm, nice weight.

“Is everyone ready?” Harding asked, looking around. She had just finished correcting Varric and Cassandra’s pose and when all the dancers nodded or responded positively, she went near Zither and the music resumed playing.

They had danced the night before - and Lavellan had been able to practice for a bit -, so they started well. She never looked down, knowing it led to mistakes, and kept her eyes locked with Solas’, whose tender smile helped her calm down.

She was nervous, but in a good way; everyone could see them dance together, be intimate and romantic with each other, and that made her happy beyond measure. She heard the giggles of the waitresses, she saw the curious and excited glances out of the corner of her eye, and when Solas spun her around and pulled her back into his arms without missing a step, a round of applauses resonated in the tavern only for them.

“You are beautiful, _ma sa’lath_.” Solas murmured, their faces just a few inches apart. Scarlet smiled and bumped her forehead against his.

“You are beautiful too.” she said and he chuckled, maneuvering her around in a difficult move.

“I cannot doubt the sweet words of my _vhenan_ , can I?”

“No, you can’t.” she remembered to step at his side, arms linked, then to go back to the standard pose. She grinned. “You have to believe me and accept the tragic consequences of your beauty.”

“And those would be…?”

“Me kissing your face every time I can; me staring at you with a longing gaze; me saying to everybody how beautiful you are.”

“Truly tragic indeed.” he laughed, his chuckle-snort adorable as always; they kept their faces close, even when Harding tried to correct them, but she was fortunately distracted by Dorian and Bull. The Qunari’s hand was on the Altus’ ass instead of his waist and everyone in the tavern - except for poor Harding, Zither, and Dorian - laughed and snickered.

“I told you not to do it!” the Tevinter hissed, before Bull roared, lifted him, and spun him above the ground.

The Altus’ legs hit Scarlet, who tripped and fell against Solas, barely missing his bare toes.

“Sorry!” she gasped, looking down, the rhythm lost, but he laughed, kissed her forehead, and helped her re-enter the dance, without skipping one beat.

“Remember what we did yesterday night.” he whispered, but she thought of something different, of what they had done _in bed_ , and he grinned seeing her face.

“Patience, _vhenan_. Just another round of dance and then I will be inside you.”

She blushed and tensed up, mouth slightly open, and his smile - tender, amused, sweet, intense - together with the fire in his eyes locked her gaze on him, his face an anchor that kept her moving and dancing and breathing.

He whispered Elvhen words of praise and desire in her ear and she bit her lips, fighting the urge to tell him how much she wanted him inside her mouth, how much she wanted to see him undone on his back, spilling onto her lips. There were phrases for that in their language and she vaguely knew them, a knowledge born from living with older women and hearing them talk and not from direct experience. Still, she wanted to give him that special surprise without spoiling it, and so she refrained herself, listening to him with cheeks on fire and her fingers digging into the torn, dirty fabric of his sweater.

As they twirled around, always looking at each other, she tried to picture their dance in a different setting, in the same forest he had showed in her dreams the previous night. She remembered it perfectly, as well as their clothes, the flowers, Solas’ touch and smile. She remembered what she had told him, about those words that burned within her so strongly, and for a moment - despite the jarring Orlesian music - it was really like they were dancing in that forest, dressed like a king and a queen, the world around them a cloud of green, golden, and light.

Something passed in Solas’ eyes and he leaned down again to whisper, wistful, his voice deep and smooth: “ _Ma sa’lath, ma vhenan_. I long to become one with you.”

“Solas…” she gasped, clinging to him, the dance and other people forgotten. Only he and she, only them together remained, and she brushed her lips against his chin, just as they completed the final steps. “Solas, let’s go to our rooms.”

That ‘our’ pronounced in that breathy, desperate way made him groan and his hand on her waist threatened to go lower.

“Wait for the music to end, sweetest one. Just a few more steps.”

She whimpered, her face pressed into his shoulder. She couldn’t remember how long that dance was, how many steps they still needed to make. She could barely remember them and followed her instincts and Solas’ lead.

Then it finally stopped and everyone on the dancefloor made the closing move; some managed better than others - surprisingly Varric and Cassandra did a great job, while a blushing Dorian huffed as Bull’s face got near his - and Harding and the other patrons clapped their hands.

Most of the cheers and congratulations were for the Inquisitor.

“Well done, Inquisitor!” Zither exclaimed, sounding extremely pleased.

“Did you see _that_? That was passion! That was grace! They were so in sync!” a woman told her partner, who replied: “I didn’t think that shabby apostate could dance so well.”

Scarlet was barely listening, her eyes still on Solas and his on hers. They stared at each other, painting, a thin sheen of sweat on their foreheads, and didn’t pay much attention to the world around them. The dance had stopped, but they could still feel its influence, the power it had.

When the claps, cheers, and noise subsided and everyone’s attention shifted to the other dancers, he took her hand and lead her out, unnoticed thanks to the distraction that Dorian and Bull were providing without knowing it.

 

\- - - -

  
  
The courtyard was empty and quiet; almost everyone was at the tavern or in their rooms, preferring to avoid the chilly night air. They quickly headed to the main door, Solas walking fast, his heavy breathing making Scarlet feel even more aroused and warm with need.

Even the hall was empty; the servants had cleaned the tables after dinner, Vivienne was not on her balcony, and the occasional, distant sounds only came from the rotunda.

They crossed the hall in long strides, then Solas stopped right before the door that lead to the quarters.

He turned to look at Scarlet, eyes burning, chest heaving, and she gently pushed him against the door, pressing her body against his. His hands immediately went to her back to press her further into him and his mouth crashed against hers, hungry, humid, soft.

His knee went between her leg, rubbing gently that part of her that was so sensitive and ready, and she moaned loudly, riding it.

“Solas…!” she whimpered, tucking her head in the space between his neck and shoulder. “Solas, I want…!”

“Tell me.” he panted, kissing her neck with fast and heated pecks. “Tell me what you want, _vhenan_ , and I will give it to you, everything you desire.”

“I…” she looked down, at the bulge clearly visible under his pants. She bit her lips and rubbed her palm against it, making Solas cry out in surprise and sheer pleasure.

“I want you.” she moaned and he snapped, taking her head in his hands and kissing her deeply, while turning them around so she was the one pressed against the door.

Their kiss - enthusiastic, sloppy, wet - lasted many, long minutes until they had to pull away to breathe; Scarlet nuzzled his neck, whimpering and shivering with need, and Solas was about to open the door and carry her to her - _their_ \- room when he heard a noise.

The door that led to the garden opened and someone stepped into the hall. Lavellan didn’t hear, too engrossed in kissing Solas’ neck, but he did and his head snapped to observe the intruder.

He recognized him immediately and his alarmed expression turned into a deadly glare, arms tightening around Scarlet’s lithe, writhing body.

He saw Loranil’s eyes in the darkness, he saw as he looked at them both and the shock quickly transformed his features.

Solas kept glaring at him, his own blue-gray eyes shining like gemstones in the shadows, and he even curled his lips into a snarl, commanding the boy to leave.

Loranil stumbled backwards, unable to look away until Solas’ gaze was so intense and overwhelming he had to; he ran away, scrambling into the courtyard, and Solas relaxed, redirecting his entire focus on Scarlet.

“ _Vhenan_.” he whispered in her ear, licking it. “Come. _Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en_.”

She moaned happily and together they went into their rooms, up in the tall, quiet tower, where time didn’t exist and only their love for each other mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Project Elvhen by FenxShiral:  
> \- Isalan hima sa i’na (I lust to become one with you)  
> \- Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en (let us dance as the wolves do)
> 
> So I gave up and finally mentioned the name of my Inquisitor in this. This is her personal experience, after all, and I want to show it like such. I hope you will continue to enjoy the fic the same ;v; You can see Scarlet [here](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/post/126370215435/more-pictures-of-my-scarlet-lavellan-because-i-am) and [here](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/post/123824199980/i-am-finally-able-to-show-good-pictures-of-my). 
> 
> The Trespasser trailer destroyed me and I hope with all my heart Lavellan will get the chance to go with Solas ;_; My fics, sanity, and heart depends on that. Let's pray for a happy ending.
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter and forgive me for any typos!


	7. Chapter 7

Days passed slowly, filled with lessons and dancing practice, facts and events to remember, names to memorize, and smutty books.

The hardest thing to do wasn’t participating in all that stuff, despite the initial difficulty in keeping in mind the correct use of cutlery and the right things to say to nobles.

No, what was really complicated was keeping the books and the new sweater a secret from Solas.

The only way for Scarlet to work on her two surprises was to get up at night. She was too busy during the day, now that the party was getting so close, and Solas often visited her in her quarters to provide help and advice, a much welcomed distraction, or simply to keep her company and hold her in his arms as she read normal, boring books about the Orlesian and Fereldan society.

The ones that really interested her were kept in the small room where the sweater was also hidden for the whole day: she could only take them out when Solas was snoring in bed.

She would light a candle and sit at her desk almost every night, straining her eyes and stifling yawns as she discovered more incredible things about the mysterious ways of sex and courting. After completing at least three chapters, she would hide back the books and work on the sweater, which was slowly taking form.

Each morning her eyes would burn a lot and in the end she didn’t get much sleep… she basically got _none_ , because the smutty stories were incredibly fascinating and they intrigued her beyond measure, making her imagine scenes and situations with Solas that she had never pictured before.

The new sweater was also something that she put her whole attention on and it made her lose track of time: she would sew and add new decorations until the sun was raising behind the horizon and then she would run to bed, pretending to be still asleep.

Soon her lack of sleep started to influence her daily life: she couldn’t stay awake during her lessons with Josephine and Leliana, she fell asleep in the most different places, such like the eerie library underground or the undercroft, and her attention span decreased tremendously.

She always found the energy to learn how to pleasure Solas, though, and the sweater was giving her so much satisfaction that she couldn’t stay away from it, too eager to finish it in time and give it to him.

Of course Solas noticed that something was wrong.

The first thing he saw was the circles under her eyes; he would stare at her in the morning, looking for something on her face, and Scarlet would always kiss him and try to distract him with lighthearted conversations, knowing that he was suspecting something.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said one day, as she painfully attempted to keep her eyes open long enough to read and memorize the list of the invited nobles. He kissed the top of her head, cradling her face in his warm hands, and she hummed, wanting only to get in bed with him and fall asleep into his strong arms.

“How do you sleep at night?” he asked out of the blue and she blinked up at him, her heart beating so hard she was sure he could hear it.

“I…” she swallowed, then showed him the biggest and most reassuring smile she could make. “I sleep well! Why do you ask?”

“Because” he said, serious, “I am positively sure that you do not sleep much or not well _at all_.”

“Silly.” She beamed at him and rose to kiss his lips. “I sleep perfectly fine.”

“You look tired.” he insisted, a worried frown on his face, and Scarlet hated herself for what she was doing, but getting up at night was the only way to complete the sweater and read all the books before things became even more hectic.

So she let out a fond sigh and kissed him again, inwardly swearing to find a solution to hide her sleepiness through the day, so that he wouldn’t worry anymore.

“There are herbs and infusions that may help you.” he continued, his voice low and almost sad, tracing the edges of her eyes with his thumbs and smoothing the skin there. “I also know some techniques to relax your body and mind and…”

“Solas.” Scarlet peppered his face with soft, tender kisses, rubbed her nose against his cheek, finally making him smile, and then said, looking at him straight in the eyes: “ _Vhenan_ , I am fine. It’s just that there is so much to do and sometimes it feels like there is not enough time to do everything.”

 _‘Literally.’_ she whined, thinking about the super interesting smutty book she had just started, which explained with incredible detail all the ways to pleasure a man with a blowjob… in more than one thousand thick, wordy pages.

It was true all that stress also didn’t help make her feel energized during the day. She had even received a reply from her clan: they had sent their congratulations for her mate, despite his non Dalish origins. Some members were worried and perplexed, but _“if he is really taking so good care of you, da’len, then we can only be grateful to him and welcome him as one of us.”_

The Keeper had mentioned a visit in the future, together with a lot of gifts for the _‘bonding ceremony’_. The thought of her clan finally meeting Solas and mentioning their _marriage_ had caused Scarlet to constantly have butterflies in her stomach. She had told Solas how happy her family was for them, but, not wanting to embarrass him, she hadn’t mentioned the idea of marriage, although they had spoken about it in the past.

His smile had been warm, but she had seen a familiar melancholy in his eyes and had hurried to kiss it away, reassuring him that the clan wouldn’t come for many months yet and that he didn’t have to worry.

“They already love you!” she had said with a bright smile, cheeks flushed, and he had kissed her hands and fingers, nuzzling his face on her wrist, ears red.

Another element that caused stress were all the preparations necessary to make sure that Skyhold could accommodate so many noble guests. There were rooms to tidy up and furnish in a certain way, important details to remember, stairs to repair, walls to repaint.

There were also conversations to avoid at all costs, conversations to _initiate_ at all costs, and Scarlet had to remember them all, of course while associating them to the right nobles in visit.

She asked Josephine for some of that dark, bitter drink she always drank after lunch: she had said it was Antivan and was called _caffè_ , a special beverage that helped feel less tired.

Solas seemed to hate it and didn’t even want to smell its scent and Scarlet didn’t like bitter food or drinks, but this time she was ready to drink an entire pot of that stuff, if it could really help her stay awake.

It _did_ work, but at the end of the day it left her drained and it caused her to have terrible palpitations, so she decided to go back to her old way: to be strong and force herself through the day and night, only getting a couple of hours of sleep at dawn.

Her mind was so dizzy, tired, and fried that she even started to mix up _shemlen_ names with terms read in the smutty books, much to Dorian’s amusement. Thankfully Josephine and Solas were never there when it happened: she didn’t want to say something so embarrassing in front of her _vhenan_ nor traumatize the poor Ambassador.

In the end, Solas decided to intervene.

She would usually wait for him to fall asleep and then she would slowly get up, making sure to make no noise at all, and go retrieve the books.

But one night, he kept watching her, his gaze soft and intense at the same time, his hand massaging her side and belly. It was already a feat trying not to fall asleep in his arms when they got into bed - _especially after making love_ -, but the massage and the soft kisses on her hair were making it even harder.

Scarlet looked at everything but him, a deep blush on her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, how to tell him to go to sleep; she _didn’t_ want him to fall asleep, she wanted to cuddle in his arms, return all his kisses, and slowly enter the Fade with him. But the sweater was almost done and she had reached the end of the big book. The party was just around the corner - only two days were left -, so she had to hurry.

 _‘I swear, Solas.’_ she thought, turning on her side to face him. _‘I swear I will never leave this bed again. I will spend every single night in your arms.’_

She missed falling asleep on his chest, she missed kissing him and giggling until they both drifted into the Fade; she missed meeting him there and share their dreams.

She missed their tender, relaxing nights together, but if that sacrifice meant giving him more pleasure and a good, warm, personally hand-made present, then it was more than worth it. She wanted him to be happy and feel beautiful.

“We should sleep.” she started, hoping the blush on her cheeks wasn’t too much visible.

“Indeed.” he smiled and caressed her face, moving the hand down her jaw, then on her neck and finally down her collarbone. “But I don’t want to enter the Fade yet. I would rather watch you and count the freckles on your face.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his smile warmer.

“You are refusing the call of the Fade?” Scarlet gasped, a hand on her chest, with a teasing grin. “My, Solas! What happened?”

He pressed his lips on her forehead, chuckling, and replied fondly: “You have this effect on me, _vhenan_.”

Warmth spread all over her face and chest and she smiled into his neck; still, she couldn’t stay there too long or the Fade would have lured _her_ in.

The sweater was almost complete. She just needed to fix the sleeves and add the last details and then…

Solas’ lips found the tender skin under her ear and she whimpered, unable to keep her eyes open when his hand started stroking her hair.

She knew what he was trying to do: he was so worried he wanted to make sure she would fall asleep. It was endearing and sweet, but she had a mission to complete, a gift and a book to finish.

“Solas.” she mumbled into his neck, lips pressed against his skin, and she felt his chuckle more than hear it.

“Sleep, _ma sa’lath_.” he whispered, his long fingers massaging her scalp. He tangled his legs with hers and rested his other hand on the small of her back, so that she couldn’t move. She wriggled, but he pulled her closer and when she opened one eye and glanced up at him, he smirked.

“This time I _will_ see you in the Fade.” he said and she stared at him for long seconds, slowly coming to a terrible conclusion.

The Fade. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping because he hadn’t found her in the Fade.

“I…” she swallowed, then decided to play the ‘I-don’t-know-what-you-are-talking-about’ card. She pouted and looked back at his bare chest, tracing the small freckles there.

“I am always in the Fade at night.”

Solas hummed, his fingers tapping playfully the soft skin of her waist.

“Are you?” he replied and when she huffed and tried to move away again, he laughed and held her tightly. “Sleep. You need rest.”

She was tempted to close her eyes and let herself go, to drown into Solas’ warmth and scent and wander with him in the many dreams of the Beyond. The anxiety and stress of the past weeks weighted on her and all she wanted was to find respite with him in her - _their_ \- rooms, up there in the tower.

But she also wanted to give him those two gifts, to see his surprise and joy after showing him the sweater and, if she had learned well, see and hear and _taste_ his pleasure.

So she bit her lips, tried to come up with a way to stay awake without Solas noticing, but found none.

She had to be honest. She had to speak with him.

“Solas.” she started, a bit of panic in her voice. He realized that something was wrong and his hold on her loosened immediately, letting her sit up. She looked at him, hands fisted into her nightgown, a deep shade of red spreading on her face.

“I… I need to do something.”

He sat up too, alarm in his eyes, mouth slightly open as if he was ready to say something. He didn’t, though, and let her continue: “It’s… it’s something special and I cannot tell you what it is. Not yet.” She flinched, knowing that she had just revealed it was a surprise for him.

He kept being quiet, his expression now serious and less worried. He was pondering the situation and she took his hands, hating that mess, but wishing to give him what he deserved in a good, decent manner.

“Please, just let me enter in there.” she gestured at the room where the mannequin and books were hidden. “Let me do this. It’s very important, _ma sa’lath_.”

“Is this what you have been doing all these nights?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry nor annoyed, only genuinely interested and calm. She nodded and continued: “Yes. I got up and… and did something. This will be the last night, I promise! I am almost done!”

Solas sighed and brought her hands to his mouth, kissing them.

“If it is so important to you, then I won’t stop you.” he said, smiling. Then he turned serious again and cupped her cheek, a tender caress that melted her heart.

“Last night?”

“Last night.” She kissed his palm.

“Will you rest and take care of yourself after this?”

“I promise.”

He smiled again and, his hand now on the nape of her neck, pulled her closer and softly kissed her lips. She threw her arms around him, hugged him tightly, and whispered in his ear: “Thank you, Solas.”

He replied with another kiss on her neck and she giggled, relieved and happy, before jumping out of bed and heading to the door, her white nightgown fluttering around her legs.

Before entering the small room, she turned back, giving Solas a sweet, but also timid look.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said, shaking his head and smiling similarly to how he had done when she had kissed him the first time in the Fade. “I won’t enter.”

She beamed at him and let out a cheerful “goodnight!” before entering the closet. She immediately focused on the sweater, spending the next few hours on the last decorations, checking the size for the umpteenth time, fixing the sleeves and the collar.

When she added the last red bead and stepped back to look at her work, she almost cried. It was beautiful, probably the best thing she had ever sewed, and she was overjoyed to have made it for Solas.

Feeling extremely relieved and satisfied, she checked the fabric one last time - to make sure everything was alright -, then bounced on her feet and covered the mannequin with the sheet, already looking forward to the party, the day she had chosen to give her surprises to Solas. For the first time, she actually couldn’t wait for that day to come.

Her sleepiness was almost completely gone now, so she took out the last book and sat against the wall, ready to complete that general tour about the wonders of sex and finally put them into practice.

Another hour passed fast and when she finally emerged from the room, feeling like a new, complete person, the sun wasn’t up yet and the room was still dark. She was thrilled at the idea of finally getting back into bed with Solas and join him in the Fade, but when she turned to watch him sleep, she gasped.

He was reading, using a candle on the bedside table to see better. He looked up and smiled at her, closing the small book in his hands.

“Solas!” she went to him, mouth hanging open, arms at her sides. “What… what are you doing?”

“Reading?” he replied smugly, raising one eyebrow and smirking at her. Her stunned expression made him chuckle and he motioned her to get under the sheets.

She did and he put the book on the small table, before blowing out the candle with a simple wave of his hand. She kept staring at him, still dumbfounded.

“I waited for you.” he said softly, resting down with her. Her side of the bed and pillow were still warm and she realized he had used magic to keep them so.

“Did you do everything you needed to do?”

She nodded and stroked his cheek and lips with her fingertips, observing him with awe and tenderness. He returned the soft gaze and kissed her fingers when they touched his mouth.

“You should have gone to sleep.” she said; he put one hand on her hip, the other on her cheek, and rested his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes.

“I wouldn’t have found you in the Fade nor felt your legs brush against mine in my sleep. I wouldn’t have smelled your scent nor felt your arms around me.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against her face, inhaling slowly.

“Now I understand why I felt so alone all these nights. I suspected you weren’t sleeping because of your tired eyes and the fact I could not find you in the Fade, but I did not think you actually left the bed.”

“Sorry.” she looked down, at her hands on his broad chest, and felt him chuckle against her skin.

“It must have been something very important for you to get up every night, _vhenan_.”

“It is.” she smiled at him, then she gave him a pointed look. “But I am not telling you what it is yet, so don’t even try it.”

He pouted - actually _pouted_ -, but his playful scowl turned into a grin when she giggled and tucked her head under his chin.

“Not even a hint…?”

“Not even one.”

“How long will I have to wait to discover what it is?”

“Two more days.”

A grunt, followed by Scarlet’s new giggles.

“I never thought you could be _this_ curious about something so simple.” she glanced up at him and saw him frown in deep concentration at the wall ahead.

“It is important. I would just like to know what drew your whole attention from…” he stopped and even from her position, she could see the blush on his face and ears.

“From you?” she completed, kissing his neck, and he grunted again, making her laugh.

“Don’t worry.” she said softly, raising slightly her head to press another smooch on his chin. “There is nobody in that closet distracting me from you, Solas.”

He growled and rolled over her, nipping and licking her neck; she let out a breathy, happy giggle, immediately wrapping her arms and legs around him kissing his temple, and stroking his ears.

“You silly girl.” he mumbled into her neck, his calloused hands kneading her thighs under her nightgown.

Despite the tiredness slowly creeping back into her bones, Scarlet was more than ready and willing to spend the remaining hours of the night playing with Solas in bed. But he seemed to understand how tired her body was after all those sleepless days she had spent, so he gave her one last kiss and flopped back at her side.

“Let us rest _, ma sa’lath_.” he said and his grin made her shiver in anticipation as he added: “We will continue this in the Fade.”

She curled into his arms, safe and warm, and for the first time in weeks she slept deeply and soundly, finally back into Solas’ embrace.

 

\- - - -

 

The next two days passed in a blur. They were even more hectic than the previous ones, probably because the panic and anxiety levels caused everyone to lose their mind.

Dorian and Josephine spent entire hours in the Ambassador’s office with Scarlet to reread the nobles’ names and make sure she still remembered them all. Vivienne and Leliana checked the decorations, the furniture in the rooms, and servants and maiden scrambled in every corner of the fortress to scrub the last stones or fix the last details.

Vivienne also reminded everyone to behave as best as they could; she glared at Sera, who merely stuck out her tongue at her.

The First Enchanter then went to Solas and, after saying hello to Scarlet and complimenting her hard work, she focused her attention on the apostate.

“Darling, I know that Dorian offered you help on the delicate matter of… clothing.”

“He did.” Solas didn’t even raise his eyes from his book. “But I refused it. I believe I have everything under control.”

“As always.” she said flatly. “Very well. I hope you chose something adequate for the important day that awaits us and our Inquisitor.”

“Believe me, Enchanter.” he gave her a coldly polite smile. “It will be surprisingly good.”

As soon as Vivienne was gone, Scarlet sat on his desk and softly said, taking his hand in hers: “Solas, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“But I _do_ want this.” he kissed her knuckles, his smile now bright and tender. “And don’t worry, _vhenan_. It costed me nothing.”

“Will it be something inspired by the style of Arlathan?” she asked, suddenly curious, her eyes sparkling. He chuckled and tapped her nose.

“It is a surprise.”

 

\- - - -

 

It was indeed a surprise, because the day of the party she awoke in her bed alone.

Solas had left his clothes on the bed, together with a loving note for her on his pillow.

_‘On dhea, vhenan. Some of the guests are already there, I believe, and your presence will soon be requested downstairs. There is food for you on the small table near the couch. I will wait for you in the main hall, together with the others. Do not worry, fear nothing and nobody, and walk proudly. This is your fortress and they cannot harm you here._

_I will not allow it._

_Love,_

_Solas’_

Part of her terrible anxiety went away and she pressed the piece of paper to her chest, thanking Solas for his sweet, reassuring message.

She ate breakfast quickly, fearing to be already late, then wore her beige outfit. It didn’t look elegant at a first glance, but the fabric was actually refined and suitable for Skyhold’s weather and the buttons and clasp were made of gold.

That was already way too rich and expensive for her tastes. Something like that could have fed her clan for months, if traded with honest human merchants.

After taking a deep breath and reading Solas’ note one last time, Scarlet headed to the hall, mumbling under her breath all the information she had studied in the past weeks. At the end of this day, she was also going to give her two surprises to Solas and that thought alone was probably what most twisted her stomach and made her feel light and numb.

She opened the door to the main hall slowly and peeked into the room, hoping nobody would notice her yet.

She had never seen so many people in Skyhold before: their voices filled every nook, reached the ceiling, surrounded her like a suffocating mantle, and she suddenly remembered all those people were there to see _her_.

There were so many masks and dresses and jewels; the majority of those nobles were Orlesian, although she spotted clothes typical of Ferelden and the Free Marches. She saw some of her companions in the middle of that chaos - she had to recognize them from their faces, because their outfits were different from anything they had ever worn in the past.

Dorian was a living masterpiece: his robes were nacreous, the colors changing depending on the light, fluid like silk, falling around his body with grace. Many women and men were staring at him with envy, appreciation, and interest. She saw Vivienne - her own dress illuminating the hall like a fire - smile at him. She had changed hat, choosing one adorned with pearls and rubies.

Scarlet swallowed, already longing for the calm of her quarters. Leliana had warned her that the party would have been a little shock, but she had to get used to this opulence and the terrifying number of people: the Ball at Halamshiral was going to be even worse and she had to be prepared.

In a corner, she saw Varric and Blackwall: they were both dressed elegantly, with clothes resembling their usual humble attire, but the fabric was clearly expensive and sewn with more care and love for details. Their faces were the real priceless thing, though. They avoided the crowd and the crowd liked that: it preferred to ignore a dwarf and an unshaved human with too many hairs on their bodies.

She even glimpsed the gaunt figure of Cole up on the balcony; she wasn’t sure, but he looked dressed differently too.

She wondered where he had found the clothes. Maybe Vivienne or Leliana had given them to him, but why? He could choose to be invisible to the eyes of those he didn’t like or didn’t need his help and she doubted he wanted to be remembered by those snobby nobles; but if really was wearing fancy new clothes for whatever reason, then she was more than happy for him.

She tried looking for Solas, but it was impossible to see him in that sea of dresses, masks, and men in armor. In the end, she decided to come out - it was time and she didn’t want to be seen like that or make the guests wait too much.

As soon as she opened the door, many eyes fell on her and she bowed her head to them all, glad to see the gesture was returned with smiles and courteous words.

“Inquisitor!”

Josephine approached; she and the other Advisors were dressed as usual, their outfits good enough even for that occasion, useful to show the nobles their role inside the Inquisition and intrigue them.

“I was about to go call you.” the Ambassador smiled at her, kind and concerned. “Are you ready?”

“Y-Yes.” Scarlet gulped down the lump in her throat and felt heat rise on her face. “Maybe? I… I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, Your Worship. We are all here to help.” Josephine patted her arm, her smile bigger, then her expression turned into the professional mask she wore when there were people to amaze. “Now, the first thing we need to do is greet our guests and accept their compliments. Go to the throne and they will pay you their respects.”

“One by one?” Scarlet gasped, eyeing the nobles, who were already growing impatient and curious.

“I fear so, my lady.” Even Josephine flinched. “It won’t take too long, I promise! _Etiquette_ requires only a few, polite words. If they wish to tell you something important or personal, they will have to wait to speak to you in private during the party.”

Scarlet begrudgingly made her way to the throne, keeping her chin high and back straight; she showed no nervousness nor anxiety, but her heart beat so fast she couldn’t almost hear the nobles over its sound in her ear and her hands were sweating. Thanks the Creators she didn’t have to shake hands.

Josephine was right: the whole thing didn’t take too long, since many nobles were related and just came to her in group or couple. It was terribly dull and boring, though, and Scarlet had to use all her inner strength to hold back her yawns and not roll her eyes. Some nobles were sincere and polite, others were blatantly false and offended by her Dalish origins. She longed for Solas and his comforting presence.

When the last nobleman finally introduced himself and bowed, she was free to join the party and mingle. Many were waiting for her, wishing to talk with her in private like Josephine had mentioned, and she reminded herself that this was necessary, that she needed this practice for the upcoming - and way more dangerous - Ball at Halamshiral.

Josephine followed her and helped her remember the names of the nobles by whispering them before they approached; Scarlet faced questions about her current missions and tactics for the future, about Haven, Corypheus, the Mark. Most of those conversations were pleasant, not overly complicated, and she did a good job despite her inexperience. Still, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was often being judged, each of her words analyzed, even her gestures and expressions noted.

When the oldest Orlesian noblewomen started to bring up her Dalish lifestyle and subtly criticize it, she felt all the tiredness accumulated the past weeks weight down on her like a boulder.

Then she saw him, smiling at her from across the hall.

She gawked at him, completely ignoring an annoying old countess who was pestering Josephine with inane requests. Solas bowed his head, never breaking eye contact; she quickly excused herself and nearly ran to him, her hand reaching out to grasp his.

He was beautiful.

His clothes were Elvhen in style, but unlike anything she had ever seen. They reminded her of what he was wearing in that dream of weeks ago, but these were simpler, although rich and elegant all the same. A black shirt with golden and green patterns; a fur pelt across his chest, tied with a carved belt, which had floral motifs on it. His pants were of the same style, without the leather he wore under his usual, homely attire.

Scarlet couldn’t move her eyes from that sight, mouth still hanging open, and Solas chuckled, resting his other hand on hers.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said softly. “Do you like it?”

She blushed and nodded, staring into his eyes, bluer than ever. Then she smoothed the beautiful fur, recognizing it as lupine.

“You…” she swallowed, mouth dry. “You look beautiful.” Panicking, she looked up again and hurried to add: “You always are! It’s just that… I’ve never seen you dressed like this in the waking world. It’s… different.”

“Thank you.” The smile on his lips was flattered, but also smug. “I believe I offended Dorian and Vivienne. They asked me multiple times where I found this attire, even joking at first, and when I refused to answer, they decided to ignore me and sulk like two children.”

Scarlet laughed, muffling the sound behind her hand. They were far from the crowd, tucked in a dark corner near the hearth, where most of the nobles hadn’t gone yet. Her small and nondescript figure allowed her to go unnoticed for at least a few minutes, but she knew someone was going to ask for her sooner or later or recognize her among all those humans and pomp.

“I am curious too, though. Where did you find this?” Her admired gaze became worried. “Solas, tell me you didn’t buy it.”

“Would you prefer to hear I stole it?” he smirked and she thumped him, making him laugh.

“Do not worry, _vhenan_. I did not spend a fortune to have this crafted nor I stole it from a tomb. I acquired it through… other means.” His smile was enigmatic and she sighed, knowing he was not going to give her a clear answer. She fixed his fur pelt and belt and dared to press a sweet kiss on his lips.

Some whispers began to circulate, but they ignored them. Solas looked incredibly satisfied and proud and his hands went on her waist.

“You are beautiful too, _vhenan_. Bright and strong, walking among these nobles with grace and courage.” he whispered and she let out a breathy laugh, a bit distracted because she was still studying his clothes.

Compared to them, her sweater was a joke, a piece of cloth crudely sewn without class nor finesse.

She delicately stroked the silky shirt, unable to recognize the exact fabric and the way it had been made. Magic, perhaps?

He noticed the shadow on her face, because he leaned closer and murmured, concerned: “My heart? What is wrong?”

“N-Nothing!” she beamed at him, hoping she was looking sincere enough to convince him. “I am just… nervous.”

The excitement she had felt for her sweater now turned into dread; how could she give him it, now that she had seen him wear _that_?

But then she looked back at him and her heart skipped a beat, but not because of anxiety.

He was smiling at her with love and kindness, ready to support her in any way necessary, and there was beauty in that smile and in those eyes.

 _He_ was beautiful and she smiled brightly, her fears dissipated, and propped herself up on her toes to kiss him again.

Those women in the Exalted Plains knew and understood nothing, she thought. They couldn’t even imagine how good Solas was to her, how good he was in general.

He deserved to feel beautiful. Everything about him was: his soul, mind, body, and she was proud of him, proud of being his _vhenan_. He had found and worn that attire only to make her do a good impression with possible allies, he had endured Dorian and Vivienne’s sly jabs only to help and support her.

She was about to announce to every noble in the room that they were together and that she was the luckiest woman in the world.

Even if her sweater was nothing compared to what he was wearing now, she knew that he would have appreciated it the same. He was gentle and sweet and she really wanted to give him something she had personally made for him, a gift that wasn’t an armor to fight in, but a domestic, sweet present.

Also, that _other thing_ she wanted to give him… that frightened her, but she felt ready. She didn’t want to disgust him nor hurt him and there was a big possibility that she was going to make a disaster, but… she had studied that particular topic for weeks and she was ready to risk a burning embarrassment, if it meant having a chance to make Solas feel even better during sex.

“ _Ma sa’lath_.” he called, blue eyes looking for more signs of discomfort on her face. She was worrying him with her silence, so she squeezed his hands and brought them to her chest.

“I am fine.” she said. “You are here.”

“Yes, _vhenan_.” he murmured, his gaze intense, his grip on her hands strong and delicate at the same time, never painful. “I am here. Never fear.”

“Thank you.” She leaned in, her smile tender, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

“I will watch over you.” he whispered and there was a promise in his voice. “If one of these nobles tries to do something… offensive, I will intervene.”

“For now they have only offended my origins or watched me with lewd eyes.” she giggled, despite the discomfort she had felt at first. But Solas, her Solas, was there and his presence made everything better.

“Disgusting beasts.” he growled and she giggled again.

“We will speak later.” She pressed another kiss on his lips and she felt his restrained passion, how he had to hold back not to dip her down and smooch her face in front of everyone.

 

The rest of the day went well.

Scarlet did a good job with the various and different conversations the nobles wanted to start with her. When someone dared too much - either with words or more physical contact - Solas or one of the closest companions intervened.

Bull, still without a shirt, but wearing the fanciest pants and eyepatch she had ever seen, towered over a pair of chevaliers who had offended her Dalish heritage and scared them off.

“A gift from Vivienne!” he grinned when Scarlet pointed out how big the gem on his eyepatch was.

After a small incident with an old man who accused the Dalish _in general_ of having killed his wife, Cassandra - dressed in a new armor, but nothing too dissimilar from her usual attire - followed her the whole time, glaring at the Fereldan men who complained about the clans often moving into the forests or at the Orlesian women who scrunched their noses seeing Lavellan’s ears.

“Please, Inquisitor, tell me I can punch them.” she groaned after another boring conversation that had won them a few precious alliances.

“Let’s wait until the end of the party, Cassandra.” Scarlet sighed, feeling the same urge. “Then I will gladly give you a hand.”

Varric used his knowledge and contacts to facilitate her job, even though his fame as a writer was what really the nobles were interested in. Sera was nowhere to be seen, although the most bothersome and annoying guests mysteriously tripped over stones or sat on broken chairs nobody had ever put there. If she concentrated hard enough, Scarlet could almost hear familiar cackles among the chattering and little talks around her.

Solas was always with her, sometimes watching her a few meters away, sometimes walking right at her side, introducing himself as her Fade expert. Judging by the knowing glances the nobles gave him, they knew he was also much more to her.

Apart from those few exceptions, the other guests treated her well and thanked her for all her efforts. Many nearly begged her to sign alliances and treaties with them, others complimented the beauty of Skyhold and the efficiency of her Inner Circle and Advisors.

At some point, Cole - who was really wearing new clothes and even a new hat - approached her and whispered in her ear: “He will like it.”

She turned to him, eyes wide. She had been so busy in the past weeks that she hadn’t spent much time with the spirit boy, but she understood immediately that he was referring to her gifts… she wasn’t sure which one, though.

“Both.” Cole smiled. “Don’t worry. He will like them.”

Relief flowed through her and she caught his hand.

“Thank you, Cole.” she said with a big, toothy smile. She was taking a break in a corner, observing her friends. Solas had been stopped by humble, old human scholar with a pleasant attitude and didn’t look bothered by his questions. The others were entertaining the rest of the people there; the one who was having the most success was, of course, Dorian.

Everyone was doing their best to make a good impression and show how strong and nice the Inquisitor was through their presence, the bond they had with her. They were making sure she couldn’t be offended nor criticized, using their own different charms and reminding everyone that all this - the fortress, the influential, important, and mysterious companions and advisors, the servants, and soldiers - were all her friends and loved her.

Scarlet let out a deep breath, still smiling, then turned back to Cole, grinning:

“I love your new clothes! Where did you get them?”

“Josephine.” he tugged at his long sleeves. “I asked her. Everyone was going to dress nicely for you and I wanted to do the same.”

She pressed a grateful, chaste kiss on his cheek and the boy smiled.

“Thank you again, Cole.”

“You are calmer now. Solas seems to be enjoying himself and he has never left your side. You are thankful to us too and your love for everyone is warm like the sun. This has been a good day and you are not scared anymore.”

Scarlet beamed at him and was about to go join Solas when someone else went near to him.

A bitter, old lady she had met and talked to earlier: Lady Varice, who had expressed all her rage about the mage rebellion.

She eyed Solas distastefully, but he returned the glare with politeness, unaffected.

Scarlet rushed to them, the anxiety that had disappeared so quickly coming back equally fast. She greeted the lady and asked her if she was enjoying the party, hoping to lighten up the mood.

“I was.” Lady Varice responded, icily. “But then I heard the most shocking news, Your Worship. That this…” she looked Solas up and down, her mask doing nothing to hide her disgust. “… this man is your fiancée.”

Scarlet held her head high and moved nearer him as Solas straightened his back.

“He is.” she confirmed proudly. “I don’t see why that should be a problem, my lady.”

“My, of course it is!” the woman gasped, bringing a hand on her chest. “The Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition together with a mage?”

“I never claimed to be the Herald of Andraste. On the contrary, I always refused to be called like that.” Scarlet narrowed her eyes, her patience growing thin. “The Inquisition supports the mages. They are not monsters to be feared.”

“Such a pacifist and kind-hearted stance.” Lady Varice mumbled, not impressed. “Are you sure such a relationship could actually benefit your organization, Your Worship?”

“I am not with him for some political purpose!” Scarlet hissed, venom in her voice, rage burning in her eyes, her nails cutting into the palms of her hands. “I am with him because I _love_ him! Our relationship doesn’t concern anyone but us and I would appreciate it if you minded your own business, my lady.”

Lady Varice gaped at her, scandalized, while Solas’ lips quirked into a small, but extremely pleased smile. His cheeks were flushed red.

“Perhaps it is better if we abandon this conversation, Inquisitor.” he said, brushing his hand against Scarlet’s, but the human noblewoman turned all her offense and rage on him.

“This is a private matter between me and the Inquisitor, _apostate_.”

With that, she flung her wine glass at him and Scarlet watched in horror as the liquid stained his beautiful clothes and fur pelt, some droplets falling on the floor together with the shattered glass.

Gasps resonated in the hall; the nobles in the farthest side of the hall hadn’t noticed anything yet, but those around Scarlet and Solas were staring at the scene with horror and trepidation, waiting for the next reaction.

Solas clenched his jaw, but he said nothing: he just wiped away the wine from his face and looked down at his ruined shirt with an unreadable expression.

Scarlet, on the other hand, was fuming.

“You…!” she bit her lips, watching Lady Varice with a barely restrained fury that she had never felt before. She was about to grab the noblewoman by her arm and kick her out of the fortress, when Solas took her hand and smiled at her as if nothing had happened.

“It is alright, Inquisitor. This can be easily washed.”

She knew it was not true and tried to respond, but he squeezed her hand and turned to Lady Varice, who was still standing there, stiff and stern, fully believing that she had done the right thing.

“If you will excuse me, my lady. Next time, I will make sure not to bother you with my presence.”

He started heading to the Inquisitor’s rooms, where he had left his old clothes, then he noticed Scarlet following him.

“ _Vhenan_ …” he tried to say, glancing at the guests that awaited to be entertained, but she shook her head vehemently and grabbed his hand again.

“I am coming with you.”

“ _What?_ ” Lady Varice gasped. “You can’t do that! What kind of host are you?”

“Don’t worry, my lady.” Scarlet said with cold ire. “I am sure there are other people here you can focus your ignorance and narrow-mindedness on.”

Lady Varice looked like she had just been punched in the face, but Scarlet didn’t waste time to enjoy her horrified look. She followed Solas, who had the biggest grin on his face, and together they went up to their rooms.

 

\- - - -

 

Once there, her rage and sadness turned into tears, which blurred her sight as she stroked Solas’ stained shirt.

“My love.” he said softly, cradling her face in his long fingers. He was smiling and she felt like crying even more. “It is fine. I believe magic can fix this, so no need to worry.” He chuckled, glancing down at the dark stains with a raised eyebrow. “Also, I am not sure this is my style.”

“It looks really good on you.” she murmured and he chuckled again, kissing her forehead.

“Thank you. But I think it is time to wear my old clothes again.” He turned to look at his old sweater and pants he had neatly left on the bed.

“Wait!”

Scarlet took a deep breath and glanced at the door of the closet.

“First… I want to show you that thing we talked about the other night.” She laughed nervously, anxiety surging into her like a wave, and shook her head.

“It’s… it’s nothing fancy, just…” she sighed, frustrated, because she didn’t know how to start. In the end, she decided to just go for it and gathered all her courage, passing one hand over Solas’ face.

“Close your eyes?”

He smiled and kissed her palm, doing as he was asked. She quickly went into the closet and, after trying to calm herself down enough not to make a mess, she took the sweater and went back to him, holding the piece of clothing in her arms.

“Alright.” she said, voice small. “You can open them now.”

He did and his intake of breath told her everything she needed to know. He widened his eyes as she showed him the sweater better, holding it from the shoulders so that he could see the decorations.

It was dark green, with red threads and beads on the collar and sleeves that could be used as buttons. It was heavy, to protect him against the cold weather of Skyhold, but also soft and not itchy at all. It was sewn with care, with double thread so that it wouldn’t wear out too easily.

“The size should be the right one.” she murmured timidly, averting her eyes from his face, heat flushing her cheeks. “This way you will have one pair of sweaters and will be able to switch them when necessary.”

She cleared her throat and started babbling, speaking too fast like she did when she was nervous: “It is not fancy like the clothes you were wearing today and I hope I picked the right colors, also if it is too big, I can fix it, just tell me! I can fix it if it’s too small too, but it shouldn’t be, I checked the size thrice and…”

“Scarlet.”

She raised her head and Solas took it in his hands, kissing her with all the passion and eagerness he had restrained before. He opened her mouth, nipped her lips, pressed her so tight against himself that both were soon left breathless.

“My love.” he gasped when he drew back, lips humid and glistening, face flushed just like hers. “ _Vhenan_ , I appreciate this immensely.”

She beamed at him, joyous, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling into another kiss.

“I… I prepared another thing.” she admitted, a different kind of blush spreading on her face and ears. She didn’t dare look at him, so she stared down at his ruined shirt, mumbling: “Something to do in bed. I read about it a lot and… and I think I am ready. If you want to do it.” She sighed a second time, hating herself for not being able to speak decently, and finally looked at him.

The fire and passion in his eyes were still there, together with the sweet kindness she so loved and was so grateful for.

“We…” Scarlet opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “We don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to! We can do it like we always do, it’s perfectly fine, and I will understand, really, you…”

Solas threw the new sweater on the couch and swept her into his arms, bringing her to bed. She squealed when she hit the mattress and locked eyes with him as he hovered over her, his gaze so intense she felt overwhelmed. A pleasant warmth and tightness filled her groin and she instinctively pressed her thighs together to find relief. His eyes darkened.

“My heart.” he said huskily, resting his forehead against hers as his hands slid down her sides. “Oh, _vhenan_. I want this. I dreamed of this, but I was scared, so scared…”

“No!”

She cupped his cheeks, euphoric, because _he wanted to do this_! He had thought about this before and wanted to do it with her!

“Solas, don’t be! I want this, not because our times before haven’t been good - they are always so, so beautiful! I just…” she giggled and pressed many little kisses on his face, making him laugh in return. “I just want to give you more pleasure.”

“Yes.” He caressed her cheek, staring into her eyes with incredible tenderness. “Yes, _vhenan_ , I dreamed of giving you more pleasure as well. I want to give you everything you deserve and more. I didn’t dare ask because…” he blushed, timid, and concluded: “… because I didn’t want to frighten you nor hurt you.”

She giggled again, shaking her head.

“Why should I be frightened?”

“It’s… it’s something rather _delicate_ and I didn’t know how you felt about it.” Solas looked away, his blush now reaching his ears and neck. “I wasn’t even sure you knew about this.”

“I didn’t. I had to read about it.” She pecked his nose and he looked back at her, smiling again, his eyes glistening like stars. Hers were bright like the sun too and her smile broad and filled with joy.

“Then…”

He moved one hand lower, reaching her pants and teasing the heat in her belly. His fingers stopped on the button, asking for permission, and his smile became even more softer.

“May I taste you and give you pleasure with my mouth, _vhenan_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a tease ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Also the incident with Lady Varice is actually canon and mentioned [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CV5I7vcz8u0)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the three months break! I had many projects and things to focus on, but this fic has always been in my mind, waiting to be continued. So here is the fateful smut scene! 
> 
> Brief summary for those who don't remember/don't want to reread the previous chapter: Scarlet spent many nights awake to prepare two surprises for Solas: a hand-made sweater and a blowjob. She already gave him the first after an incident with a noble that occured during a party at Skyhold. Now she has to give him the second one, but he mistook her offer for something else. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Scarlet blinked and opened her mouth to speak.

No word came out, so she just stared blankly at Solas, who in turn grew visibly worried.

“ _Vhenan_?”

She shook her head, cheeks on fire. She wasn’t expecting this! She was the one who should have… who should have…

Solas scrambled back on his feet, but stayed near the bed, one hand still on her shoulder. Realization - sudden and terrible - was on his pale face and he babbled:

“Forgive me, I… I misunderstood. I thought…”

She sat on her knees and clasped his forearms, stopping him from moving away and leaving the room in shame. He was blushing even more than her now.

“I want to do that!” she said, too fast, too excited, too much _everything_. She was sure her hair was sticking in all directions and her eyes were positively _frightening_.

 _‘Calm yourself!’_ she screamed to herself. _‘This is important! You know what to do!’_

“Oh, Solas, I want to! I just thought we would have done _that_ later!”

He stayed still, face unreadable, his own hands grasping her arms too. Then he smiled - a relieved, luminous thing - and replied: “Of course, _vhenan_. There is no hurry, you must not feel…”

“I trained for something else.” she continued, smiling back. She was calm now, serene even, and her hand moved to touch his bare chest. He inhaled, then it hit him. He frowned, confused.

“Trained…?”

Embarrassment came back and she looked at everything but him. She knew she was going to sound silly - _I read smutty books to learn how to give you a blowjob_ -, but it was the truth and she had to tell it.

So she did, with those exact words and a small voice, and she was sure she had never seen Solas being so shocked, so dumbstruck, so speechless.

But that was a good sign, right?

“So this was your second surprise?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, and she nodded, wringing her hands.

“Yes. I… I found out about this while reading letters with Dorian.” She beamed at him and moved closer to the edge of the bed; his chest was a few inches from her face and she leaned in to kiss his collarbone.

He exhaled slowly and his arms wrapped around her, warm and comforting. She relaxed and traced the lines of his neck with her lips, adding just a little bit of pressure.

“He gave me those smutty books to learn more. They don’t teach _any_ of that in our clan!”

“I know.” Solas murmured. His voice was deep, rough. “I remember you were surprised by the lack of blood the first time we made love.”

“The Keeper said girls always bleed after their first time! Even the older women said it would have hurt! How should I have known?” Scarlet exclaimed, still embarrassed by her shock of that day ( _“Are you sure we just have had sex, Solas?”_ ), but then her thrill and joy came back as well, making her bounce and giggle.

“This time I _do_ know better, though! And I read about that thing you wanted to do, but…” she pressed small, delicate kisses along his jawline and was too busy with it that she didn’t notice the way Solas tensed up and tightened his arms around her. “All the women in those books received that from their lover only after giving them a blowjob.”

Another kiss on his cheek, sweet and humid; her hands caressed his chest, teased his nipples, rubbed the soft expanses of skin below his ribs.

“As a reward for having been good.” she concluded, eyes closed as she pecked his cheekbones and nose, slowly and carefully. She didn’t see his intense stare, the tight line of his lips, the slight quiver of his fingers.

“A reward.” he repeated and his voice did alarm her this time. She opened her eyes and saw his gaze, overwhelming and heated. Something was wrong.

“Solas?” she called softly, eyebrows raised in concern. She moved to pull back, panicking, but he kept her close to his chest. He looked taller and even though he would always hug her with gentle fierceness, as if scared to let her go and lose her to the current, this time there was real despair in his embrace.

He looked almost sad.

“And how do you intend to give me that… pleasure?” he asked and there was an odd edge to his tone. His question had another meaning, it was like he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her.

Scarlet’s panic rose. Had she done something wrong? Had she _said_ something wrong? He didn’t seem happy; maybe he didn’t want to do this? He had said he wanted to do that _other_ thing, after all.

“ _Vhenan_.” he said, still serious, still unreadable, still sad. “Please, answer me.”

“With… with my mouth.” she finally replied, then quickly added: “And my hands! I read hands are important too.”

He kept waiting, obviously not satisfied, and she desperately tried to remember everything she had found in those books. What was another common thing all those blowjobs had with each other? A detail they all shared, apart from the basics?

She looked down, at his chest, at her unclasped pants, at her wrinkled shirt and then…

“Oh, _kneeled_!” she said, her round face lightening up as she looked back at Solas. “I will do it on my knees! That’s how all those women…”

She couldn’t continue, though, because Solas pushed her on the bed and pinned her to it. There were different, clashing emotions written all over his face for her to finally see: sorrow, panic, even rage, but the latter didn’t seem directed at her.

“Solas…”

He crashed his mouth against hers, a hungry, lewd kiss that made her moan and search for more contact, for more of his touch. He gave it to her, slipping his hand under her shirt and cupping her breast through the breastband.

“Never kneel for anyone, _vhenan_.” he told her - breathing heavily in her ear, nearly panting. She saw her eyes, his distressed gaze, and couldn’t understand. “Never kneel for _me_. _Never_.”

“Solas, I…”

He kissed her again, bit her lips, used his tongue and hands and left her breathless. She clung to him and asked, returning his hated look with a softer, milder one: “Is that why you don’t want to do it?”

He didn’t answer, tucking his head under her chin to kiss her neck instead. But she insisted, tugging at his ears and making him raise his head again.

“Solas, please! Is that what worries you?”

“I…” he stopped, deep wrinkles etched on his forehead as he fought to find the right words. “I’d rather give you pleasure with my mouth.”

She knew the look on her face was hurt and sad, because Solas immediately gasped and said quickly: “Not because of _you_! I just…”

He sighed, frustrated, and thumped his forehead against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, looking at the ceiling; a distracted part of her thought that the nobles below were surely awaiting her return, but she couldn’t care less.

“If we… if we find another way that doesn’t involve me kneeling… would you like to try it?”

He slightly tilted his head to look at her, brow furrowed in confusion and that odd, burning feeling she couldn’t give a name to. It was like he didn’t want to offend her or put her through Creators knew what terrible trial.

That blowjob thing didn’t look _that_ bad in the book she had read! Did he fear for her wellbeing?

“I won’t choke.” she hurried to reassure him, ears and cheeks redder than her hair. She even attempted to smile, hoping it was a good, comforting sight. “And… And I won’t bite you, I swear! I will be careful with my teeth!”

That was important too. She had read about that.

But Solas groaned and hid his face against her shoulder again.

“We can find another position!” she insisted, trying to imagine all the possible ways they could do that without her kneeling. “Maybe… you could lie on your back and…”

“ _Vhenan_.” he said, propping himself on his elbows to _scowl_ at her. “Why do you want to give me this blowjob so much?”

She stared at him as if he had gone mad.

“Because I want you to feel good!” She frowned too and shook her head in disbelief. “I was barely aware this existed before talking with Dorian and then I realized we’ve always made love in the simplest way. I want to give you more pleasure, to…” she blushed and stopped, her golden eyes moving to his broad shoulders. There were some light freckles there too.

“To do more for you.” she concluded, softly. She timidly looked back at him and found him smiling.

He still looked vulnerable, though, frail even, so she smiled in return and said, cradling his face in her hands:

“There is no need to do it if it makes you uncomfortable, though. I can use my hands or…” She giggled and rubbed her hips against his, making him gasp. “Or my womanhood as usual.”

“I _do_ want it.” he replied. His frown was back on his face, but it was sad now. “ _Vhenan_ , I really want it! It’s just that…”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain it.” Her smile broadened. She didn’t feel disappointed anymore - after all, she had taken into account that Solas might have not liked this. The main objective was to make him feel _good_ , not to force him to do something he didn’t enjoy, so it was for the best.

But the look he was giving her now was distressed and guilty and she hurried to take care of that too.

“Solas.” she kissed his lips, nose, then his forehead. “ _Ma vhenan_. Forgive me, I didn’t want to unsettle you.”

“I…”

“Pretend I didn’t say anything! Let’s forget about this blowjob thing. I will find other ways to make you feel good.”

“There is no need for that. You don’t have to do that.” he whispered and her expression turned sad too. Here was that self-deprecation again.

“But I want to! Because you deserve it and I want you to feel beautiful and loved and appreciated and…”

“You already make me feel like that, _vhenan_. Every single day.” he said, his smile a little, but warm and radiant thing, precious like a firefly. She sighed and squished his cheeks, kissing his pursed lips and ignoring his indignant squeal.

“Well, then I want to make you feel like that even more and I think sex may help!” she kept pressing his cheeks until he managed to free himself and shoot her a pointed look. She giggled.

“I’ll ask Dorian to give me more books. Maybe there is something in the underground library too? Oh and…!”

“ _Vhenan_.” he chuckled, playing with her hair and observing her with a tender gaze, and she laughed, peppered his face with kisses, nuzzled his neck and shoulders.

The guests in the hall surely had noticed her absence and had started commenting about it now, but they had both forgotten about that.

There were only them now, together in her - _their_ \- quarters, sunlight illuminating their every move and covering the room in golden, floating dust.

“Scarlet.” Solas murmured as he tried to catch her lips. She stopped immediately, attentive, and stroked his cheek with her thumb as he spoke: “I… I want to do it. I will lie on my back like you suggested.”

“Solas. Listen to me.” she pressed her forehead against his and stared into his eyes. They were blue today. “Don’t do it for me. If it makes you uncomfortable, you…”

“It doesn’t.” he assured her, smiling. There was no trace of nervousness in his smile this time, but he quickly turned serious, sad and worried again, and added: “Just… please, do not kneel for me. You don’t have to do it to… to appease me or…” A sigh, then: “What I mean is… there shouldn’t be submissive undertones like in those books. Because…”

He stopped, cheeks red. She kept waiting, giving him all the time he needed, and in the end he finished: “Because you deserve better and I do not wish to see you like that.”

“Understood.” she beamed at him, dimples on her face, hair sprawled all over the pillow. “I won’t kneel. I will rest on my stomach and…”

It suddenly hit her that this was going to happen for real, that this - the event she had been preparing for weeks - was truly happening.

“And then…” she swallowed, focusing on the freckles on his shoulders. “And then I’ll start.”

Solas let out his giggle-snort, muffled against her cheek, and she cracked a timid smile, still refusing to meet his gaze. He made her whimper happily by brushing his lips on her ear.

“There is something I’d like to do first.” he said and this made her eyes move back to his. He was calm and relaxed, gentle eyes making her feel like she was swimming in warm water, healing water.

“Yes?” she grinned at him and he leaned down, hot breath tickling her face.

“May I taste you, _vhenan_? Only… only if you want to, of course.” His blush came back and his eyes got frightened again. “I’d like to give you your pleasure before focusing on mine. It feels better this way. It’s how it should always be.”

Scarlet babbled something, too overwhelmed to speak. She had prepared for this too and this was happening as well, so quickly, but also in the same way she had imagined.

In the books she had read, the women usually received their pleasure _after_ giving it to their man, but Solas wanted to do the contrary. He always put her wellbeing and bliss over his own and he was doing that even now, when she had offered him her mouth first.

Her heart melted and she sighed, lips curled into a fond smile.

“Silly man.” she murmured, ears burning. “Of course I want to.”

Then she gasped, eyes wide.

“I… I didn’t change my smalls! And I didn’t wash myself - I mean, I did it _yesterday_ , but…”

“ _Vhenan_.” he laughed, boyish and happy, his freckles more vivid against the pink blush on his cheeks. He started to move down, never breaking eye contact. “It is alright. Do not worry about such silly things.”

“It’s not silly!” her hands grasped the sheets and she tensed up as he brushed his mouth against her stomach. “What if… what if it smells bad? Or it _tastes_ bad?”

“It will smell and taste like it is supposed to.” he chuckled, rubbing his nose on her hipbones; she whined, not totally convinced. She wanted this to be good for him too, to be enjoyable and pleasurable for both of them.

The books were clear about that: perfumed oils and creams were necessary, as well as a pair of elegant smalls to entice the partner. She didn’t even remember what pair she was wearing… the white, plain one? Or the brown one paired with her breastband?

She didn’t have the laced kind used in the books, but anything was better than those she owned.

Solas pulled down her pants and threw them away, kissing the soft skin under her navel, and she bit her lips, arousal pooling in her groin like hot water. She slightly raised her head and groaned.

The brown smalls. Of course.

Solas’ head snapped up at that and he looked at her with worry.

“Scarlet.” he said, softly, freezing on the spot. “Do you want me to stop?”

Oh, that was the last thing she wanted! Just seeing him there, his face just a few inches from her core, his long fingers and full lips almost on the perfect spot… she had fantasized about that since the day she had learned more about those things. She had imagined him between her legs, eating and licking her, she had tried to picture the pleasure and sensations both of them would have felt.

She had imagined a perfect scenario every time, though; she was ready - more than ready -, but she feared his discomfort, his disappointment. He had waited for this too, he had told her that - what if she ruined everything with small, but decisive details?

Such as her womanhood and the nobles still waiting downstairs, the party they had forgotten about, but that was supposed to be the most important event of that day.

It was _supposed_ to be. In truth, she couldn’t give less of a damn.

And obviously Solas didn’t either, judging from his calm, unhurried gestures.

“I want this!” she whispered, sincere. Her cheeks were on fire and she nearly felt like she was reliving their first night together. She had felt so nervous and inadequate, so inexperienced, that day too.

“Solas, I want this _so much_!” she continued, sitting up, and Solas stayed there, head above her lap, observing her with a so heated, intense gaze that she felt overwhelmed and had to take a deep breath to keep going.

“I just…” she looked at the worn hem of her smalls, at the discolored parts of them. They were so comfortable and simple that she mostly used those, continuously washing them while wearing another simple pair to always have them ready to be worn.

Also, it probably had a lot to do with the fact that they were Dalish, dating back from her days in the clan: she had sewn a cute floral motif on the front of it years before, on a day when she had wanted her clothes to be beautiful like the ones of the princesses of Arlathan and Halamshiral.

She was wearing those same smalls the night she and Solas had made love for the first time, but they were so focused on each other that clothes had been completely forgotten, not even glanced at.

But today Solas had her womanhood right in front of his face and the cute flowers she had sewn into the brown fabric stuck out. She felt childish and stupid.

Could that ruin the mood? She knew Solas never judged her - that he would have _never_ judged her -, but would a different outfit, a different situation - the nobles were still waiting for them!-, have made things better, more beautiful?

This wasn’t their first time, but it was their first time doing _oral_ and that was an important step as well. She wanted it to be great.

Solas understood her difficulties and smiled; he pressed a kiss on the sewn flowers and she gasped, bucking gently into his touch.

“Did you make these?” he asked tenderly, pressing his lips on the fabric again. She heard him _inhale_ and saw him close his eyes for a moment, ears red, and her heart skipped a beat.

And her smalls got wetter.

“Yes.” she murmured and Solas grinned at her.

“I love them.”

Scarlet huffed, blush spreading to her neck, and swatted his bald head, making him burst into a full, loud laughter. She followed suit and the anxiety and fear she had felt until that moment finally decided to go away.

“ _Ma vhenan_.” Solas’ smile became soft and sweet again. “Don’t worry about anything.”

She nodded slowly, but said: “I want you to stop if it gets… bad, though.”

“It won’t.” he kissed her smalls again and she bit her lips, body slightly jerking up. She was going to _rut_ so hard against him.

“But I want you to tell me to stop if you are uncomfortable. If anything - _anything_ \- unnerves you, tell me immediately.” he added, kissing her thigh, his fingers playing with the hem of the smalls and tracing the flowers. He looked up at her, waiting for her answer, serious and solemn.

“Promise?”

She nodded again, smiling, and he smiled back. His eyes were twinkling and the golden sunrays hitting his back made him look ethereal, almost incorporeal.

She had envisioned doing this at night, in the semi-darkness, but if it meant seeing Solas and all his expressions better, then she was willing to do this with every candle of Skyhold and ten thousand orbs of light lit in the room.

He began to pull down her panties, using great care, with no haste at all. He then realized she was still sitting up, tense, hands clawing the sheets and golden eyes staring at him with excitement, trepidation and a little bit of stubborn anxiety.

“My love.” he chuckled, gently pressing his hand on her stomach. “Please lie down.”

She made an odd, high-pitched sound and did as he asked; she didn’t stop looking at him, though. On the contrary, her new position made the sight of him even more arousing.

Solas kept pulling her smalls down until they were at her ankles; he helped her pull them off and slowly placed them on the bed, temporarily forgotten.

Then he focused back on her womanhood: his expression was intense, almost timid, and when he delicately spread her legs open, Scarlet let out a tiny, short whine and observed his reaction.

He was blushing as hard as her and adoration was in his eyes, a sweet gaze that stole her breath, the veneration and awe that only love could generate.

He smiled at her and pressed the softest of kisses on her outer lips and she gasped at the contact, instinctively pushing her body against his face.

He made a surprised sound and she yelped, head snapping up to make sure he was alright.

“Sorry!”

He chuckled and added another kiss, then another one, then a fourth one; his touch was delicate, he wanted to learn what she liked and how her body reacted to his mouth.

It was reacting quite _well_ , judging from her heavy breathing and scorching heat building in her groin. She moaned when he pressed the tip of his tongue just below her clitoris and he smiled at her.

His lips were already a bit humid with her liquid.

“You are beautiful, _vhenan_.”

She felt like burning hearing that and let out a nervous, but happy giggle. She didn’t know where to look, too overwhelmed by pleasure to stay still, too excited to simply wait for bliss to grow and explode in her. So she looked at Solas and smiled timidly.

His silent reply was another kiss on her womanhood, nose rubbing against her hot skin.

“Does…” she panted, wondering how she could possibly last if just those light touches were able to reduce her like that. “Does it taste good?”

The question sounded silly said out loud, but he kept smiling, two glowing spots on his cheeks.

“Delicious.”

Then he grinned, a hungry, happy thing that made her toes curl and soaked her cunt in need. She whined, looking for more contact, as he leaned down and added the minimal amount of pressure on her entrance.

She wanted more! She knew there could be more even with his mouth only!

“I often wondered how you would have tasted, _vhenan_.” he murmured and a strangled moan left his mouth when he lapped slowly her pink, soft flesh. “But I could have never imagined _this_ , my love.” Another moan and he finally - _finally_ \- pressed his tongue flat against her, teasing her and her clitoris. His index finger slowly moved to her entrance, but he didn’t slip it in yet.

“Solas!” she gasped, bucking into his touch, his face, his mouth, and he kept licking with small noises of delight and pleasure, eyes half-open as he stared at her womanhood and then at her, observing the way she moved and begged for more.

“P-Please!”

She couldn’t have imagined this either. The books didn’t do this justice _at all_ ; Solas was everywhere and his hands and tongue were driving her crazy, but in a good way; it was the kind of mindless madness she always fell into when they made love, infinite and deep, a state where only he existed, Solas and his sounds of pleasure, Solas and his words of endearment and love whispered in her ear.

Now he was murmuring those words against her cunt and she felt inebriated, drunk, unable to find any words to convey what she was feeling.

She hadn’t known this other kind of sex existed, she couldn’t have never thought that something so simple could be so effective and as powerful as the full physical act.

It probably depended on Solas: the fact that _he_ was the one doing this to her, that _he_ was there between her legs increased the pleasure, made it possible for her to feel it in the first place.

He was her first, in everything, and she was so, _so happy_ for that.

So she put all her effort in giving him everything she had; she spread her legs wider and he moaned loudly, finally inserting the first finger.

“You taste so _good_.” he panted, sucking her lips and thrusting the finger in and out. “So sweet and warm, so _wet_ for me.”

She could feel that: viscous liquid running out from her womanhood, trickling down his finger to be swallowed by him.

He finally suckled her clitoris and she screamed, clawing at the sheets and instinctively reaching for him; he gave her his other hand and slightly raised his head to smile at her.

His mouth and chin were slick and glistening and she moaned at the sight of him.

“Let me see how you spread for me.” he pushed a second finger and groaned, hurrying to mouth her cunt. “Oh, _vhenan_! Tight, but so ready for me. Look how eager you are.” He gave her womanhood an open-mouth kiss and drew back his fingers to replace them with his tongue.

Scarlet shouted, too lost into pleasure to think coherently. She could only feel Solas, Solas and his mouth on her, Solas and his velvety voice guiding her to an even higher peak.

“Does it feel good? Do you like it?” he breathed, circling her clitoris with his index finger; she thrusted against him, desperate, and nodded frenetically, trying to call his name.

“Solas…! Solas, please…!”

“Do not fear, my love. I will give you what you want.” he said softly, before taking her clit into his mouth. He sucked, hard but not without gentleness, and she pressed her thighs together, squishing his head between them.

He seemed to like that a lot and continue to suck and lick with eagerness and enthusiasm, chuckling and looking at her with tenderness.

And when he moaned with her, while still staring at her, Scarlet came with a loud, relieved shout and liquid gushed out of her.

She had always felt so good in Solas’ arms, but that never happened before and she sat up, the aftermath of her climax still flowing through her, making her shiver, but somewhat refrained by her terrible doubts.

Had she…?

“Solas!” she babbled, watching him raise with a pounding heart. She was sweaty and disheveled, clothes wrinkled and humid, but her mind was torn between the sheer joy she felt for having done that with Solas and her horror.

The sheets were wet and soaked under her legs and she didn’t even dare to touch them to check whether her doubts were valid or not.

Solas’ face was _drenched_ with her release and he happily licked his fingers clean, still maintaining eye contact, a smile tugging at his reddened lips. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a stream of incomprehensible words and sentences came out.

He chuckled and took her in his arms, holding her so tightly she could almost feel his ribs press against her… she could _definitely_ feel his hard length against her thigh though.

“My love.” he whispered and she slowly raised one hand to touch the glistening release on his lips and chin. “Worry not. It was just a sign of great pleasure.”

She blinked, mouth open, then sighed relieved.

“Oh! Alright then!”

She was finally able to relax and realize fully what had just happened. She beamed at him and burst into a happy, clear laughter before throwing her arms around him and kissing him.

He tensed up for a second, mindful of her possible discomfort, but she kept kissing him despite the strong, unfamiliar taste lingering on his mouth and tongue. She drew away and made a face, smacking her lips to better understand the flavor.

It wasn’t bad, but she couldn’t quite give it a name either.

“Does this taste that good?” she asked, puzzled, and Solas, who had been staring at her with surprise and worried anticipation, let out his chuckle-snort and pulled her close again.

“It’s delicious.” he murmured, licking his lips in a deliberately slow manner, and she hid her smile in the crook of his neck.

“Better than the frilly cakes?”

“Infinitely better.” He grinned. “It reminds me of hearth cakes.”

She swatted his chest and he laughed hard, before pressing loud, wet kisses on her hair and cheeks.

Then he brushed his mouth along her forehead and moaned softly. “Oh, my love, the best delicacies of Arlathan taste like sand compared to you.”

“How do you know how Arlathan delicacies tasted like?” she asked with an amused, lopsided smile. She giggled and looked up when she felt him tense up. “The Fade, right? Solas, I know you are not _that_ old!”

Something flashed in his eyes, too fast for her to understand what it was, then he smiled too and asked with something very much akin to shyness: “Would you love me the same if I was that old?”

“Of course!”

Her glowing cheeks and happy grin him were also answer enough for him and he laughed into her mouth as he kissed her, cradling her face in his long - still slick- fingers and relaxing again.

“Thank you, Solas. I loved it. I loved every second of it.” she murmured after they pulled away; he stroked her cheek, tucking one red lock of hair behind her long ear.

“Thank _you_ , my heart. This has been a wonderful gift and I did not deserve it.”

“Hush.” she beamed at him and stole another kiss, making him chuckle again. “Now it’s my turn!”

But then she turned serious and did her best to tone down her enthusiasm and eagerness. “Unless… unless you don’t want to! We can stop here or I can use my hands or…”

“Scarlet.” he smiled at her and slowly lay down, his hand in hers. Her breath caught in her throat, she observed him as he found a comfortable position and his smile broadened.

“I am yours, _vhenan_.”

She smiled in return, sure her cheeks were combusting, and kissed his knuckles. She then proceeded to unlace the strings on his pants - which fortunately hadn’t been ruined by the glass of wine - and pull them down.

She could see the hard bulge of his manhood under his breeches and gulped; she had seen it many times before, touched it, felt it inside her body. She had stared at it for a _long_ time the night they had made love for the first time, intrigued by it.

But now she was about to have it very close to her face, to have it in her _mouth_ , and she tried to remember all the snippets of information she had found in the books.

No teeth, good use of the tongue and lips, hands were important too, she had to suck and blow (although she had no idea how to do the latter), his noises were going to be her guide…

“ _Vhenan_?”

Solas looked worried and was even moving to sit up.

“Do you want to sto-”

“No!”

She gently pushed him back on the bed and kissed his nose before going back to his breeches. She caressed the outline of his length and he gasped, bucking into her touch.

“I was just listing in my mind all the things I read about this.” she smiled and started to pull the fabric down. His cock slipped out and she couldn’t help but stare at it.

Intently. Eyes wide open. Ears red and hands slightly trembling.

She was wet again.

It was thick, she already knew that, and there was a bit of precum on the head. The whole length was hard and reddish, with a vein throbbing on it, and she was about to move to lick it tentatively when Solas stopped her with a loud sound of alarm.

“W-What?” she babbled, immediately sitting up, and he mumbled sheepishly: “Could you… could you please lie on your stomach?”

“Sorry!” She scrambled to get down, supporting her weight on her elbows, and saw Solas relax with a deep, relieved sigh.

“Better?” she asked with a smile and he nodded quickly. She didn’t know why he hated the idea of her on her knees so much, but she didn’t question it and accepted it without asking more. Whatever the reason, it was obviously important to him and she wanted that moment to be perfect for him.

That position wasn’t so bad anyway. She had a perfect view of his manhood and could lick it more easily, while also being able to see his reactions.

She leaned in and licked a long stripe along his length, her right hand timidly reaching for his balls; Solas’ breathing got heavier and faster, his chest heaving, and one of his hands moved to his abdomen, fingers curled.

The taste and smell were… peculiar. Not unpleasant, bitter, but pungent and intriguing. Scarlet wrapped her lips around the humid head and slowly slipped it into her mouth, tongue pressed flatly on it.

The sound that left his mouth was similar to the ones he made when they had sex, but this one was raw, strangled. He started to whimper and whine softly as she bobbed her head up and down: his girth was considerable and she could feel tears prickles her eyes after a few minutes.

Still, she didn’t give up and breathed through her nose as the books taught her, remembering to fondle his sack too: it felt funny and soft and it made him gasp and call her name.

When she pushed his cock deeper into her mouth, he cried out and tore the sheets he had been gripping with his free hand, while the other reached out for her hair. He didn’t pull it, he grabbed it gently instead and held on to it to stop himself from thrusting into her mouth.

Scarlet let out a happy moan as his taste became stronger and her tongue found more leaking precum: she tried to swallow it and then blew and sucked, hoping she had read correctly the descriptions in the novels.

“ _Vhenan_!” Solas shouted, hand gripping her red locks tightly, but not painfully. “ _Vhenan_ , I am…!”

She watched him writhe and bite his lips, face flushed red, droplets of sweat running along his temples and brow: she had seen him like that before, above her when they made love, but she was always in the same conditions and her mind was too lost into pleasure and the feeling of him all around her to observe all the details.

Now, despite the growing heat in her groin and her wet womanhood, she could see clearly how much composure he had lost, the sheer bliss in his eyes, finally devoid of any sadness or melancholy. She saw his white knuckles, the muscles of his neck, his open mouth, she heard the crescendo of noises pouring out of it.

“ _Vhenan…_ ” he babbled, locking eyes with hers. The sight of her like that made him groan and buck a little bit harder. “Please, I…!”

She inwardly squealed in joy, knowing that she was making him feel good in a new way. She happily continued to suck - ignoring the slight ache of her jaw - and stroke his length up and down. Then…

Then he came in her mouth, hard and hot, with a shaky sob that turned into a loud moan.

Scarlet spluttered - not because his release tasted bad, on the contrary it aroused her even more -, but because she wasn’t expecting it. Some of it even trickled out of her nose and she wheezed a bit before being able to regain her breath and recover from the surprise.

Solas had sat up and was rubbing her back, his still flushed face full of apprehension and guilt.

“Forgive me, I…”

She raised her head to smile at him and he stopped, breath hitching in his throat. She suddenly felt self-conscious.

“Do… do I look bad?” She touched it and found it sticky and dirty with his cum. She timidly licked her fingers clean while looking at Solas, fighting the shyness and embarrassment, and his reaction was worth her burning cheeks.

He took her in his arms again and murmured, voice low, hoarse, rumbling in his throat: “Never, my love.”

He kissed her, a passionate kiss that stole her breath and made both of them moan.

“Did you…” she gasped when he pulled back to let her breathe. “Did you like it?”

“I _adored_ it.” he started to pepper her face with little, sweet kisses and his voice was sad and barely audible when he whispered: “Another gift that I did not deserve.”

Before she could protest, he smiled and squished her cheeks. There were joy and love in his eyes and Scarlet’s heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you, my love.”

She giggled, tried to reply, but he squeezed her cheeks harder and kissed her pursed lips with a boyish laughter.

His hand was already under her shirt and hers was teasing his half-hard cock when a knock on the door downstairs startled them.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine called with a nervous, squeaky voice. “Are you in there?”

_The party!_

“Y-Yes! Yes, we are here!” Scarlet babbled as she and Solas jumped out of bed and hastily recovered their clothes. “Forgive us, Josephine, we’ve been looking for a new shirt for Solas!”

“… For nearly two hours, my lady?”

 _Shit_.

Scarlet looked at Solas with panic, but was shocked to see amusement and a roguish grin on his face. He was having fun and if he wasn’t worried, then there was no reason for her to be either.

“Are the nobles mad?” she asked, but just then Solas pressed his cold hand on her cunt and she had to stifle her strangled moan with the back of hers.

He was using the same water spell he had used in the Dalish camp in the Exalted Plains to clean her; it was nice and very welcomed, but she was still sensitive and his touch awoke _many_ things in her.

He moved his other hand to her face and the stickiness went away, washed away by magic, warm water.

She heard only the last part of Josephine’s answer: “… but the others managed to keep them busy and distracted quite well. We… we can’t really keep you up there any longer, though.”

“Of course!” Solas had drew back his hand and was now cleaning himself, biting his lower lip to refrain himself from chuckling. He wanted to _play_ and so he reached for Scarlet to pinch her buttocks or tug at her hair affectionately.

“Solas!” she hissed, swatting his arm, and he answered with a quick peck on her nose.

“Food is ready to be served, Inquisitor. Please, don’t be late or the guests will really get angry this time!”

“Don’t worry, we are coming! Tell them…” she elbowed Solas, who snickered and kept kissing her neck, hands on her waist, as she put on her pants. “Tell them we had to find a proper replacement for my Fade expert’s clothes. This way they won’t forget what happened.”

“Of course, my lady.”

They heard Josephine’s footsteps fade away and Scarlet turned around to face Solas. He smiled innocently at her, wearing the sweater she had made for him with pride and joy.

“Yes, _vhenan_?”

“Stop it, you dork!” she laughed, fixing her shirt and hair as best as she could. “If they suspected something before, they are _absolutely_ certain we are together now.”

She giggled noticing Solas’ pink ears and cheeks and kissed him soundly before taking his hand.

“That’s what I wanted. This way there will be no more doubts.”

Solas smiled warmly at her, touched and flattered by her words, and said, leading her with an elegant gesture to the stairs:

“Let’s go, my heart. Everyone is waiting for us.” he leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, which still tasted like him. He let out a small, happy sound.

“I will be there, watching over you. Search for my eyes in the sea of masks and I will come to you.” he smiled when he saw her red cheeks and continued, whispering in her ear:

“And tonight, here in the safety of our room, we will lose ourselves into each other again.”

Scarlet giggled and Solas’ smile broadened as he kissed her again and pressed her right hand on his heart.

Then, they headed hand in hand to the main hall, ready to face the nobles and guests together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Solas' request to not see Scarlet kneeling for him: it's related to his Fen'Harel days and his respect for everyone's freedom and dignity, but I also like to imagine that he saw really bad things during his youth/rebellion. 
> 
> The Evanuris were a bunch of bastards and I can see Falon'Din or someone else treating their slaves with terrible cruelty. Solas most likely witnessed many of their acts and he cannot bear the thought of Scarlet in similar positions.


End file.
